Driven to Ascent
by dawnsama
Summary: AU, IYKag, MirSan. A celebrity’s life may seem all glitter and glam, but between Hong Kong Triads bosses, candid photographers, abuse, death, depression, and being surrounded by utterly untalented pop stars, it’s not a smooth drive…
1. Prologue, Part I: Aftershock

Summary: AU, IY/Kag, M/S. A celebrity's life may seem all glitter and glam, but between Hong Kong Triads bosses, candid photographers, physical abuse, death, depression, and being surrounded by utterly untalented pop stars, it's not a smooth drive…

.

Disclaimer: Inuyasha is the property of Rumiko Takahashi, not me. The story was inspired by the SnowShadowUser's "Get a Life!"

.

A/n: Ooh goody, crossing over from Escaflowne to the Inuyasha fandom. In other words, yes, this is my first Inuyasha fic, but you don't have to dwell on that. This prologue was split into two parts mainly because it was so damn long. 28 pages single spaced on Microsoft Word, just short of 18,000 words by a few hundred.

This is rated mostly for language but it will slip into some R-movie territory later in the story. For now, the content is pretty PG-13 (maybe even PG but I'm being cautious. All those deleted stories…).

Thanks to EmeraldDragon and Rhoda for beta-reading!

Warning: Lengthy authors note at the end.

.

_Driven to Ascent _by dawnsama

.

_Prologue, Part I: Aftershock_

.

.

The confusion probably originated from Miroku, Kagome's brother. Before it all erupted, before the madness, before the chaos and trouble, before Kagome was even born, a man in a suit approached Mrs. Higurashi and a three year old Miroku and declared that he would make Miroku a star.

What happened afterward led on to Miroku's first magazine shoot, and then his first commercial. The man was a shrewd businessman but he took care of his clients. He did indeed turn Miroku into a child modeling sensation.

By the time Kagome was born three years after the faithful meeting, Miroku had already received acting offers and starred in many high-caliber (and high paying) commercials and advertisements. Four years after Kagome's birth, when their brother Souta was born, Miroku had already earned enough money to pay for any college education he might want and received offers from all over the globe

Kagome and Souta themselves were not interested in the modeling business, despite the many offers presented to them. They saw Miroku in a heroic light. Looking at one of Miroku's advertisements, they saw their big brother as a champion, their idol. Only Miroku could do such brilliant things. It was not their place to do something only Miroku deserved to do. So Kagome and Souta led a fairly normal life at their family shrine with Papa, Mama, and their maternal grandfather in Tokyo, Japan while Miroku stayed home for eight out of twelve months of the year, the remaining four months spend at photo shoots on location.

When Miroku was eleven, Mr. and Mrs. Higurashi realized with a shock how much Miroku had missed from his childhood. After much debate and discuss, they decided to put Miroku's career on an indefinite hiatus to concentrate on his studies. Miroku complained a little but relented easily. Perhaps he wanted a break from it all.

At the time when the ages of the Higurashi children were 15, 9, and 5, Miroku expressed a strong desire to resume his career. The next thing Asia knew he made a strong return back to the showbiz world with enough glitter and glam to shame the stars. His face appeared in fashion outlets in nearly every mall in Japan and anyone vaguely read magazines recognized his smile from the multitude of advertisements that appeared every few articles. This time, however, Miroku went further into fame. After a few modeling jobs and commercials, Miroku decided to exercise talents other than his looks.

Half a year after his return, Miroku released a solo pop album with a prestigious record label. As most musical artists do if (or when) their premiere album reaches platinum status, Miroku suddenly left home again to perform in a regional tour, which then turned into a national tour, then regional, then world wide.

At age 16, home-schooled Miroku graduated from high school early and relocated from the family shrine to Hong Kong. He got his first big-movie acting job. The movie he starred in was a regular teen-flick that resulted in a blockbuster flop, but it showcased Miroku's talents, potential and good looks perfectly. Afterward, Miroku suddenly appeared all over the media, whether it was in commercials, talk shows, or soap operas. Everything seemed to be within Miroku's grasp and everything in the Higurashi's life was perfect.

But good things do not last forever.

At what seemed to be the pinnacle of Miroku's career, two years after his return to fame, when he had received the Best New Artist music award (a huge advance in his career), the Accident happened.

It was a tragic accident. On a cool, October morning, Mr. and Mrs. Higurashi were driving their son Souta to his new elementary school. As the light turned green, Mr. Higurashi was turning around in the passenger seat to reassure Souta that his school would be just fine, he would make many new friends and have a wonderful time. It was at this moment that a huge van decided to run the red light, regardless of the cars before it. Just as Mr. Higurashi turned, his head snapped back as the van slammed into the side of the car, causing it to skid across the intersection and crash into the cement wall of a public car parking.

Mr. Higurashi died instantly when his neck broke. Souta had forgotten to put his seat belt on and suffered great pain from the impact before he died minutes after the crash. Mrs. Higurashi almost survived but passed away on the ambulance from blood loss.

In the middle of shooting a movie in Mainland China, Miroku abruptly left the set without warning, catching the earliest flight back to Tokyo. It angered and insulted most of the producers and agents at first, who had not received any explanation of any kind of his sudden departure. They didn't even blink in sympathy when he called the next day, explaining his reason. Progress in the movie was at the point where they could not go on with Miroku's absence without dropping the production all together. As this movie had much promise and money riding on its success, they had no choice but to wait for Miroku's return.

Not that Miroku could care less. The sudden death of his parents had severely shaken him. He stayed in Tokyo a month after the funeral to grieve and support Kagome in her new life.

The Higurashi family had lived at the family shrine for as long as anyone could remember. As Grandpa Higurashi still legally owned the shrine, the shrine had not been lost with the three deaths. Grandpa was also still active and healthy so Kagome was not sent away to other relatives

But despite the fact that Kagome was significantly luckier than other children who have lost their parents, she could not appreciate her circumstances.

She just could not.

.

.

_Five months after the funeral_

.

Kagome sat on the shrine steps, doing her homework, or at least pretending to. Grandpa was sweeping the shrine grounds, whistling and chatting with the temple patrons. Chewing the end of her pencil, Kagome stared hard at the mathematical equation on her sheet of paper, slightly hoping that her stare would burn a hole through the paper. Maybe she would be excused from doing it if it burned…

She snorted at that thought. She could just imagine the reaction to that excuse. "Excuse me sensei, I didn't do my homework because I accidentally burned a hole in it," she mimicked.

_And then the teacher would look at her and shake her head. Kagome would recognize the look in her teacher's eyes: the indecision of whether or not Kagome's grief had something to do with the hole in the homework and if she should excuse her because of it. Then again, it had already been five months after the death, surely she would have recovered by now? Perhaps she was just using her grief to her advantage? _

Her classmates would snicker and whisper to each other. A few months ago, they would have sympathized with her. Now they would simply look at her and sigh in exasperation.__

A few days ago, Kagome had overheard a group of girls gossiping about her in the bathroom. She had been sitting on the toilet seat, flinching at the cold steel creeping at her bottom and hoping that the floor was not wet. As she flushed the toilet and was just beginning to pull up her school uniform skirt, the bathroom door had opened and a group of chattering girls walked in.

"And then she started crying in front of the teacher! _Crying_! Like a little _baby!_" said a girl with a squeaky voice.

"How _immature_," remarked a girl with a nasal voice. "Let me guess, it was because of her parents right?"

"It's so _stupid_," commented Squeaky.

When Kagome had realized that she was the subject of the conversation, she sat back down on the toilet and pierced her lips, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to will their gossiping away.

The girls continued to talk.

"I was the homework collector today. _Her _homework had _tear smudges _on it! It was still wet too! It was sooo-oooo gross," whined Squeaky.

A low, croaky voice said, "You'd think she'd gotten over it already."

"My _dog _died, and I got over it in a week," said Nasal. "My parents even got me a new dog who was cuter than the other one."

Croaky seemed to snicker and rumbled, "I think Higurashi is just _pretending _to be sad. It's obvious that she just wants to get out of doing homework, and everything else in school for that matter," she added.

Squeaky and nasal agreed, loudly adding their own comments.

"It's so hard to believe that she's _Miroku's _little sister," said Croaky.

"Yeah," agreed Nasal. "He's so hot…"

All three girls paused in their conversation to sigh.

"He went right back to work only after a _month_. Kagome's _still_ obsessing over it. She should be more like her brother," said Nasal.

"Yeah, she's so pathetic! She doesn't _deserve_ to be Miroku's sister," declared Croaky.

Kagome took a deep breath. She decided that now was the moment to reveal her presence.

She had pulled up her skirt and walked out of the stall. The girl's conversation stopped short in shock as she shoved her way through them to the wash basins. As she washed her hands, Kagome had looked into the mirror, her gaze flicking over to the girls. Each of the girls had some sort of make up accessory in their hands, lipstick, eyeliner, and a mascara wand, and had frozen in each of their actions.

Wiping her hands on a paper towel, Kagome had turned to face them. She was silent, her face still and blank as a slate.

After a moment of silence, the girl with lipstick had snapped it shut and slipped it into her backpack.

"What do you want, crybaby?" taunted the girl.

Kagome's eyes flicked to her. She was the one with a croaky voice.

Silently, beneath her skin, Kagome felt her anger bubbling and boiling like the magma in a volcano. Right at that moment, she had wanted that girl to die, to die just like her parents did. She wanted Croaky-girl to die with no mourners, with no one to remember her with her croaky voice and her stupidity. In a flash, Kagome's mind had zipped through a series of images in which the girl died in horrible and painful situations. She fell into a trap of sharp sticks—fell down a well—fell into a snake pit. When her mind had exhausted itself of deaths involving falling, she imagined the girl getting shot at with a gun—stabbed in the heart—eaten by a snake—in a car crash… In each in every one of them, she felt happy, no, _ecstatic_ that the girl died. Deep within that second of deathful thoughts, her subconscious decided that the car crash was the best.

"You," Kagome had said to her, icy and frightening, "don't deserve to be Miroku's fan."

With that, she had crumpled the paper towel and had thrown it at her face, her fist and foot following closely after. One of the girls ran out the bathroom, screaming about a fight and calling for help. About a few minutes later, a crowd of assorted students and adults were unsuccessfully attempting to separate Kagome from Croaky as she slammed the girl's head over and over again against the ground.

She had bloodied up Croaky quite a bit. The girl had been too surprised at Kagome's violence to put up a real fight back, although she had landed a few well-aimed kicks that left bruises in their wake on Kagome's body. Fortunately her friends had been in the same state of shock and did not think to outnumber Kagome to rescue their friend. Later, Kagome had thanked them ever so politely for that piece of good luck, otherwise known as their stupidity, in the vice-principal's office.

In general, Kagome was not a particularly violent girl. In fact, before the deaths, Kagome had been a very shy and polite girl; the kind people would describe as sweet mannered. That was probably the reason why Grandpa had been so upset when he was called to the school. She would have been expelled, but because of Kagome's situation and grief, they only sent her home for the day.

The worst part (or one of worst at least) about life was that nobody seemed to understand Kagome's grief. When anyone tried to sympathize with her, it seemed to Kagome that they were only sympathizing because it was expected of them, because they _had _to do it, not because they cared. In her eleven-year-old mind, nobody would ever be able to understand Kagome's grief for her parents and younger brother. They could not understand the deep hole in her heart, the flesh wound she would carry with her always, a wound that could never heal. Losing half of her family members so suddenly left a shock on Kagome, like a splash of permanent paint against the cloth of her life.

How could anyone ever think that Kagome could recover from this in the space of months? How could they think it possible? How could they think she would _ever _recover? They did not understand that Kagome could _never _heal that wound in her soul.

There were exceptions to this assumption, however. Grandpa, so energetic and loveable, became sullen and sad after their deaths. After the funeral, he would not stop lamenting at outliving his children and how it was just wrong for a father to bury his own daughter and son-in-law. It wasn't fair, he kept saying, it wasn't fair. He tried to reenact his old self when visitors came to the shrine, but he could not completely convince everyone. Everyone noticed something different, something dark, something sad. But he tried at least; Grandpa tried to get over it. And he was succeeding. Bit by bit, Grandpa was recovering from his grief and moving on from the tragedy, moving on with _life_.

Then there was Miroku, her older brother. Miroku had stayed after the funeral as long as he could before going back to work. He seemed to be the only person who _really _understood Kagome and Grandpa's pain, if only he was home when they needed him. Miroku made an effort to come home more often. Before, he visited them at most once every three month, twice if they were lucky. Now, Miroku somehow found time to drop by the shrine every other weekend or so. He told Grandpa and Kagome to call him on his cell phone whenever they wanted, regardless of whether or not he was working or what not.

Kagome grew to long for Miroku's visits. She longed for someone to talk to, someone who understood and would listen, _really _listen, someone to release her dark thoughts to. Grandpa was already disqualified as this kind of person. Grandpa was not in the same level of grief as Kagome was. Miroku, although he could not show it in his work, felt and shared the same emotions as Kagome. So therefore, this kind of person could not be just anyone, he could only be Miroku, he was the only one.

Right now, she wanted to talk about the fight, more specifically, the death images. It had been her first fight and it still stuck in Kagome's memory like a stitch in her side, sometimes like a battle scar on her arm. She could barely remember what had possessed her mind in that moment of violence. Her actions seemed strange and alien to everyone, including Kagome. In fact, she even confused herself when she thought back to why she had attacked the girl. But it was not so much the physical fight that stood out vividly in her mind but the emotions. She remembered the images her mind had conjured of the Croaky girl dying. She remembered how giddy she felt at those images. Those happy emotions frightened and bewildered her. Kagome could scarcely believe that she had thought such images, much less enjoyed them. Perhaps Miroku could explain. Miroku seemed to understand the psychological things like grief and recovery much better than Kagome did.

Tapping the pencil against the temple stairs, Kagome shivered as a cold gush of wind brushed against her arms. It was early March but the wind was still chilly and cold. She gathered her things and crept into the temple. With a sigh, she placed her things in a corner and wandered over to another distant corner of the temple. There was a special shrine in this part of the temple. Framed pictures of Papa, Mama, and Souta leaned on top of the shrine with a candle in front of each picture. There were a few sticks of incense still burning on the floor in front of the shrine.

Kagome knelt at the shrine and lit fresh sticks of incense. Then she merely sat, still and solemn. Kagome found that at the times when she felt the most depressed and miserable, sitting in the quiet, peaceful atmosphere of the dead ones' shrine helped to calm her sobbing mind. Kagome could pretend that she had not lost them and that they were still here next to her. She could almost feel Mama's comforting arm around her shoulder, Papa softly patting her hand, and Souta looking curiously into her face and demanding to know what was wrong. She did not have to miss them because they were right there. Closing her eyes, Kagome dropped her hands into her lap and meditated.

Kagome was in such a state of peace that she barely heard the creaking of the door. She did not even react when she felt a warm presence kneeling next to her.

The warm presence put an arm around her shoulders kissed her head in greeting. Kagome opened an eye and smiled at her big brother. He smiled back. They both then closed their eyes, heads lowered respectfully.

"When did you get here, nii-chan?" Kagome asked.

"Just now," Miroku answered. "Grandpa thought you might be here so I went to look for you.

"Hm."

After a few more minutes, they simultaneously opened their eyes and stood up. Stretching they bowed to the shrine and walked back to the house.

Miroku looked at his sister and frowned. "Kagome," he said in a worried voice, "how did you get that bruise on your face?"

"What bruise?" asked Kagome, but she knew very well what bruise he was talking about. She flinched as Miroku touched the bruise gently, still frowning.

As they entered the house, Miroku gave Kagome a well meaningful look. Kagome sighed.

"I got into a fight," Kagome said, shrugging.

Miroku shut the door and turned around to face her, his eyebrows raised, mouth hung slack in shock.

"You _what?_" he stated, stupefied.

"Didn't Grandpa tell you?" asked Kagome.

Miroku shook his head as though he could hardly believe it. He hung his jacket on the coat hook and they walked into the living room. Lying onto a couch, Miroku sighed and rubbed his eyes, head leaning against the cushioned armrest.

"Finally, I get to rest," Miroku said. "I've had so much work to do these past days I could barely get any sleep."

Kagome knew Miroku would not let the subject wander away for long. She sat down on the part of the couch unoccupied by Miroku and waited for him to start again.

Eyes closed, Miroku said, "Talk to me Kagome-chan."

Kagome wondered what to talk about. There was so much she wanted to pour out into Miroku's attentive ears. What to start with?

After a moment to ponder, Kagome said, "I hate it here."

Miroku opened an eyelid. "Really?" he inquired. "Does your fight have something to do with it?" He raised an eyebrow, silently urging her to answer his question.

"The people at my school are stupid," Kagome said, defending herself. "They laugh at me when I get sad about… the… you know…" Kagome faltered slightly and avoided saying 'death.'

"Go on," said Miroku gently.

"Anyway, I heard these girls talking about me in the bathroom. They said all these mean things about me. They laughed at me, they laughed at when I cried. They said I was stupid and immature. They even said I didn't deserve to be your sister!" To Kagome's surprise and dismay, tears began to slip from her eyes. She angrily wiped them away.

"It made me so angry! Nothing's ever happened to them before! They have no right to tease me about my grief! They don't understand. What makes them so smart? It's not _fair_, Nii-chan. Then that girl called me a crybaby! I couldn't help it. She _deserved _to be punched and kicked. She _deserved _to lose blood! She just had it coming. It's just not _fair! They're _the ones who should have died instead of…of…" A small sob broke out of Kagome's throat and she began to tremble.

Warm arms encircled her. Kagome closed her eyes, cheek pressing into Miroku's chest. Miroku said nothing, words were not needed at the moment. He gently pulled her into his lap onto the couch, tucking her head under his chin. Kagome, at age eleven, still had not hit her growth spurt and she could fit easily into his lap. She curled up against him and sobbed against his front.

Miroku rubbed her back soothingly. "I know, I know how it is," he said. "People say things about me as well," Miroku told her. "They call me weak and sentimental, a fool… Sometimes, they call me those things in public, or they display it the cover of popular magazines. I wish I could punch and kick them. One time I almost lashed out a reporter but my manager stopped me before I could. Afterward I was glad they stopped me before I became violent. You know why?"

Kagome shook her head, face buried in Miroku's shirt.

"Because I realized that reporter didn't understand my grief and it wasn't her fault. You know, she's probably never experienced anything tragic. Only someone who's gone through as much as we have would understand. But just because nothing's happened to her doesn't mean she deserves it to happen. People misunderstand; people make mistakes. People aren't supposed to experience grief, you and I just happen to be the unlucky ones."

"Why do we have to be unlucky?" Kagome demanded angrily. "We didn't do anything!"

"True, but did _she _do anything?"

The _she _Miroku meant was the reporter, but Kagome's thoughts snapped to the girl she had beaten up. Other than that day in the bathroom, the girl had never really done anything to Kagome before. As far as Kagome knew, the girl was probably just like the girl Kagome used to be before the deaths.

"Miroku?" Kagome whispered softly.

"Hmm?"

There was a short pause.

"That reporter, those people…" Kagome drifted off. She feared the next question she was about to ask.

"Nii-chan…have you ever wanted to kill them?" she asked softly. "Have you ever wanted them to just die?"

"Why do you ask that?"

Kagome clutched Miroku's shirtfront and shivered.

"I remember right before I punched the girl," Kagome said, voice shaking from the tears, "I thought of her dying in all these different ways. They weren't all the same but she died in every single one of them. I really wanted them to happen. I wanted all of those ways of killing to happen to her…see how _she _likes it. If none of them happened to her, I thought that at least I could get some blood out of her. So I hit her."

Kagome sunk deeper into Miroku's lap. "Those thoughts…they _scare _me. I've felt angry at people before, but I never wanted them to _die_. After the fight, whenever I saw people stare and look at me, I pictured them dying in a car crash.

"What's wrong with me Miroku?" Kagome shrieked. Her voice cracked and her eyes flooded again with tears.

Miroku once again rocked her gently in his lap as Kagome tried to stop her tears.

"Kagome, where were your friends in all of this?" asked Miroku. "Why didn't they talk to you?"

Kagome, aside from her sobbing, was silent to this question.

Miroku sighed. "Kagome…"

Kagome twitched.

"I don't know. I used to have friends but I forget who they were. But I don't need any friends anymore. Miroku I hate it here. I hate it! Hate it! Nobody listens to me, nobody understands, not like you do. I can't even talk to Grandpa anymore…

"I wish I was living with you instead," Kagome mumbled into his shirt.

Those pivotal words rang and echoed in Miroku's head.

"I don't think you really mean that," he mumbled back, somewhat frantically.

Unfortunately, her previous statement had also echoed in Kagome's head.

"Yeah…" she breathed. It was perfect! Suddenly, Kagome saw a solution floating in front of her nose, sitting in front of her nose actually.

"Kagome," Miroku warned, "Don't—"

Too late.

Grabbing two fistfuls of Miroku's shirt, Kagome looked up at him desperately. "Nii-chan I could live with you!" Kagome exclaimed.

Miroku flinched at her glowing, tear-streaked face. "As much as I'd enjoy that, it's not a very good idea. You know I'm working all the time. I'm either on set or in the studio or sleeping. I won't have much time to be with you…"

"That's okay. I've always wanted to see where you work!"

"And you still have school…"

"You can get a tutor for me," Kagome answered desperately. Her eyes still looked at him, pleadingly, anxiously, dreadfully, as though she were a child on the streets presented with a roast beast on a golden platter, a meal that had the chance of being snatched away.

Miroku sighed and looked away. Kagome did not lie. When she said she wanted to live with him, she really meant it in a down to earth, serious way. There was just no getting around his sister when she became like this.

Kagome really did not know what she was saying. His lifestyle was not fit for a young girl of eleven. Miroku had been blessed all these years that his family paid very little attention to the paparazzi, else they would know that some of the rumors spread about him had some truth to them. Kagome was still very innocent. What would she think when she realized her big brother was not as clean as she thought?

But still, Kagome seemed so miserable here. For Gods sake, he heard what she said.

_"Have you ever wanted them to die?"_

Kagome was already stuck fast in depression. It did not seem healthy for Kagome to stay here. Saying no would be like abandoning a puppy in the gutter. Glancing back at her pleading eyes, Miroku sighed again. But still, he could not be rash.

"Are you serious about it?" he asked. He knew it was useless to ask but he did anyway.

"Yes!"

"You really want leave Grandpa all alone to live with me?"

Kagome paused. She had not thought of Grandpa living in solitude. She looked down, ashamed of her selfishness.

"Kagome, why didn't you talk to Grandpa about it instead of waiting for me?" Miroku asked.

Kagome's gazed stayed down, sullen.

"Well?"

"I don't know why…" Kagome said softly. "Grandpa is different. He still smiles all the time. Grandpa is…" she hesitated. "Grandpa is…" She stopped again. Taking breath, Kagome blurted out the words. "Grandpa is _happy_. He doesn't see people dying when they ask him about the…you know… he sees… he sees…" How could she say this? Looking up at her brother, Kagome said, "He sees _life_."

Miroku smiled sadly at Kagome's thoughtful and simple words. It was heart-wrenching, the way she gazed upon him with untainted trust and love, the way her voice shined with tears, yet she could still say something so pure and simple, such that only a child could see.

"I'm jealous that Grandpa is so happy," Kagome admitted. "I want to be happy too, but I can't stop being sad. But I still don't want Grandpa to be sad either. Better one of us than both us sad," she reflected pensively. "Grandpa wouldn't understand either. Only sad people understand each other."

Miroku looked her. "Do you think I'm very sad?" he asked.

"Yes," Kagome answered simply.

"Why?" Miroku asked.

Kagome buried her head once again in Miroku's shirt. "I've seen you on TV and in the papers. You're always smiling, but it's not your happy smile, it's your fake smile that you use when you're acting. You always act like yourself when you're happy, but you don't in the papers."

Miroku sighed. Kagome, young as she was, always seemed to be right.

"Please Miroku?" Kagome asked, eyes peeking up from his shirt. "I don't know if I can live here anymore. Can't I try living with you?"

"We'll see," Miroku said hesitantly. Now was a good time to change the subject. He looked around the living room for a diversion and found the TV remote control.

"Let's pretend we're happy," he suggested and turned on the TV. There was a newscast showing footage of Miroku at a movie premiere in Beijing, an arm slung lazily around the slender waist of his Chinese co-star. The camera focused on his arm and panned down lower to where his hand was cupped around the actress's…

Miroku quickly changed the channel before the camera revealed where that hand was. Instantly it changed to MTV, showing clips from his latest music video. There was Miroku, lip-singing with two extremely shapely dancers moving somewhat erotically around his body. Miroku quickly changed the channel yet again before a more erotic clip was aired.

When the next switch proved to yet again involve Miroku in some way, he gave up and turned the TV off. A soft snore from his lap brought his attention to his sister. Kagome had curled up in his lap, snuggled against his chest. The crying had easily lowed her to sleep. She breathed steadily, breath blowing against his shirt. She did not seem capable of moving.

With a shrug, Miroku adjusted his arms around Kagome in a more comfortable position, tucked a pillow behind his head, and slept.

.

At some point, Miroku woke up. He gently rearranged the still sleeping Kagome off his lap onto the couch. He found Grandpa sipping tea in the kitchen. After the initial cheerful greetings, Miroku made the proposition of Kagome coming to live with him. To his surprise, instead of rejoicing at a solution for Kagome's depression, Grandpa was none too enthusiastic.

"She's still a child, they always come up with strange ideas like that," Grandpa said to Miroku.

"But she's _miserable _here! At school, no one listen to her, she's alone. I don't think she's in a very stable mentality either. She told me that she's starting to wish that other people would die. Does that sound like she's okay to you?" Miroku demanded.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe a therapist is the solution?" Grandpa said. "A therapist would listen to her and help her with her problems. That's what they're trained to do."

"She's _depressed_. And she's still a _child_. She needs someone she _knows _to be with her, someone whom she feels understands her. Someone she _trusts_. Do you think Kagome will trust a stranger with her problems?" Miroku argued.

"Be _realistic_ Miroku. Do you really think you can take care of a growing girl? As much as she loves you, she needs a _parent. _She hasn't even hit puberty yet but she's almost there, what are you going to do when that happens? If she's dragged out from school, where is she going to get sex education? Who's going to explain what's going on when she gets her period? You?"

"You're getting beside the point, Grandpa."

"I'm think about the future, that's what I'm doing."

Miroku forced himself to calm down. He hardly raised his voice and was not used to doing so. "Do you think I won't take care of her? She's my sister, I'd never neglect her," Miroku argued.

"Are you capable of being a responsible guardian? Are you willing to shoulder the responsibilities of caring for a child?"

"Of course."

"Wrong! You're a teenager and a pop star at that! Really Miroku, at seventeen, you yourself are still in the middle of puberty! How can you handle another adolescent? You have enough going on in your life without worrying about a child."

"Grandpa, I'll be eighteen in a few—"

"And I know what kind of lifestyle you lead," Grandpa continued. "Partying, dancing, drinking…I've read the news. I know not everything in the media is true, but those pictures with you and some girl had to come from _some_where. Not only that, but you're with a different girl _all the time_. And if an inkling of what people say you do with those girls is true then I most _definitely _don't want Kagome to be in your charge!"

"Grandpa…" Miroku gritted his teeth. "I do _not _go out partying every night."

"That's not how it appears to be."

Grandpa reached toward the pile of newspapers on the table and slapped down a headliner in front of them.

"Here," Grandpa pointed to a label underneath a picture of a dancing Miroku, hand caressing her bottom. "And _here_." _Here _was a laughing Miroku, dancing with several scantily clad girls.

"What kind of example are you setting for you sister? Do you want her to act like _this_?" Grandpa indicated to another picture.

Miroku did not even bother to look at it. "Don't you care about Kagome? Aren't you worried about her?" Miroku snapped at Grandpa.

"Of course I care! You think just because I don't want her to live with you I don't care?" Grandpa yelled back.

"Why not? Why can't she? She wants to. It's obvious that she can't survive here!"

"_Can't survive?_"

Grandpa's fist slammed down on the table between them. He was breathing heavily, head bent down in exhaustion, fist was shaking.

"I've always thought that my children were the ones who would take care of me when I am no longer able myself," Grandpa said, voice soft and hoarse. "But now, after they died, I find myself trying to care for another daughter, all over again. What do you think I'm so supposed to do when I see her struggling and failing to adjust to the aftermath? Is she struggling because I did something wrong? Am I not trying hard enough to help her? Have I failed as her grandfather?"

"I didn't mean to imply that you're a bad grandfather," Miroku said, feeling the prick of shame.

"But am I?" His voice was calm and strained. "Obviously my influence hasn't helped her move past the deaths." Grandpa sighed and rubbed his forehead against his palm.

"Then you come to me and offer to take Kagome away… Miroku, what did you expect? Did you really think I'd embrace this notion whole-heartedly? Do you realize the amount of responsibility and duty that comes with being a legal guardian? You're barely even an adult, how can I trust your word? And what if it doesn't work? What if something happens? Will you just change her guardianship at trouble?

"You do know that if something happens to Kagome, you will be fully responsible for her?" Grandpa demanded, giving Miroku a sharp look.

"I am fully prepared to take that responsibility," Miroku responded solemnly.

Grandpa looked intensely at Miroku and shrugged. Suddenly, the tense atmosphere was gone.

"I don't know what to do. I just don't," Grandpa said, shaking his head. "Who knows? Maybe it _is _a good idea for Kagome to live with you. Maybe all she needs a change of scenery and some time away from the place her loved ones used to live in."

Miroku kept his gaze intently on Grandpa's face.

"Does this mean you'll consider it?" he asked.

Grandpa sighed and eased himself up from the table.

"Perhaps," he answered. As he passed Miroku on his way out of the kitchen, he clapped his grandson affectionately on the shoulder.

"It really is good to have you back, Miroku," Grandpa said grumpily. "There's some ramen on the counter. Make yourself some dinner."

Miroku agreed and bid Grandpa good night.

.

In the end, after much thought and worry, Grandpa agreed to a trial run. During the first week of Kagome's summer vacation, Miroku took Kagome with him to Hong Kong. He took her to see the city's islands and the regular tourist sites. They trekked up to the peak of Mount Victoria and worked their way through the shopping malls of Hong Kong. Miroku pointed out his fellow celebrities walking down the street but did not introduce them, as Kagome knew no Cantonese.

Grandpa did not think it was a very good trial run at all. It was more like a vacation than anything, he said. But, perhaps observing the way Kagome laughed and smiled more often and that sounds of sobbing came less often from her room, he decided to reconsider.

Miroku's birthday came and went on a bright June day. Grandpa decided to surprise his grandchildren and gave his consent and blessing to make Miroku one of Kagome's legal guardians. There was a round of shock and then a round of happiness, followed by a bout of spontaneous hugging. Grandpa then surprised them again by taking them himself to the city office for the official change.

The following day, Grandpa sat down again with his grandchildren and worked out the fine details. A few thousand details later, Miroku stood up and went out to call an Institution for a tutor for Kagome.

This institute was a prestigious school for gifted and bright minds. The students at this school moved at such a fast pace that many graduated at the age of sixteen, maybe even fifteen. Students usually took a year from school after graduation, working, traveling… A student from this school would make the perfect tutor for Kagome. The school had agreed to draw up a list of suitable students eligible for the job.

The student they ended up hiring was Sango Eiri. She was eighteen years old. She had graduated from high school at the age of fifteen and completed three years of college. From what Miroku had gathered from a phone conversation, Sango had grown bored of college life and had expressed a desire to the school of traveling and seeing more of Asia while at the same time making a living. She did not have to worry about college graduation as she had already earned enough credits to graduate from college. Thus, she was on the list of possible candidates of being Kagome's tutor.

It was an easy decision really. While the other candidates possessed the mandatory qualities, Kagome and Miroku discovered that Sango had other special and unique qualities that guaranteed her the job on the day of the job interview.

Sitting around a small table at the institute café, they had been engaging in a chatty but rather boring conversation about Sango's tutoring experience when a sudden squeal echoed off the café walls. The next second, something with green hair and a rather revealing short front had latched herself onto Miroku's arm from behind and had fallen into a bout of giggles.

"I'm, like, so stupid! I _thought _I recognized you, Miro-chan!" the giggling thing said.

Miroku's mouth was slightly gaping open in surprise and pain. Accustomed as he was to his fans' antics (for some reason, the female fans attached a "-chan" to his name rather than "-kun," damned if he knew why. Was it just more cutesy?), Miroku was more used to being accosted from behind some sort of barrier, preferably a pair of security guards. "Um…" he started.

"Did you get my letter? And, like, my emails? I send lots and, like, lots of those! I'm the one, like, who signs as 'Green harlot,'" the giggling mass of green squeaked.

"Ah, well I don't really know, sorry," Miroku said, managing a weak (but still charming) smile. "I'll have to ask my secretary."

"Oh," Green hair said, pouting cutely. Then she noticed Kagome sitting next to Miroku, watching her with a look of pitying disgust.

"Ooh! Is this your little sister? She's so, like, _cute!_" Green hair squealed.

To Kagome's horror, the green haired fan pounced on Kagome, lifted her out of the seat, and cuddled her. _Cuddled_. Kagome's eyes threatened to bulge out of their eye sockets as Green hair rubbed her cheek against her forehead and squeezed, hard. At the point when Kagome was almost sure she would die of suffocation, Green hair finally placed her back on the ground, away from the failed safety of her chair. And then she pinched both of Kagome's cheeks, squealing more about cuteness (of which Kagome now wanted no part of).

Kagome was about to pull away and exercise her sharp teeth upon the girl fingers when she heard Sango snap, "_All right, that's enough!"_

And then Green hair's clammy fingers were suddenly slapped off her cheeks and Kagome was suddenly thrust to the side and held behind Sango's back with a protective arm.

"I don't know what right you think you have," Sango had begun, "to assault the Higurashi's like this!"

"Assault?" repeated Green hair dumbly.

"Yes! Assault! It's not a big word! Learn it!"

Kagome peeked around Sango's back and gazed up as a furious Sango began to poke at suddenly frightened Green hair's chest. She took a step backwards and went back to her chair, trying to rub feeling back into her cheeks. She repositioned her chair so that her chair was right next to Miroku's and joined in his rapt attention of the conversation at hand.

"I think Higurashi-san made it perfectly clear that he did not know you. Did you think his little sister would appreciate your abuse? Yes, you were abusing her. In fact, if he wanted to, Higurashi-san could press charges for physical harassment. Hugging and touching, without the victim's consent," she barked, jabbing her finger at Green hair's face with every accusation. Green hair began to tremble. "It could even be considered sexual harassment! And look around, see all these witnesses? See them? And you are not only causing physical pain to Kagome-san but annoyance as well. You're lucky the Higurashis are polite enough not to—"

Judging from the way Sango's back suddenly stiffened, she had just become aware her ascending vocal volume and the fact that the Higurashi's (and everyone else in the café) were listening with close scrutiny. Sango balled her fists, sagged a bit, and then rose up again with renewed energy.

"Furthermore, you quite _rudely _interrupted a _private conversation_. And it's not just any private conversation. It's my _job interview._ Now that you're here I've probably screwed it over and I _want _this job and _not _because Higurashi-san is famous I might add! I don't even use the word screw in a sentence, damnnit! Did I mention that I really _want _and _need _this job? Do you know how much I've stressed over this interview? _Huh? _Of course you don't! You just rush into things. You can't even dye your hair right! It's green and _fading _and judging by the faint color, it wasn't even a good blue dye to begin with! It was blue to begin with wasn't it? Oh, what now?" Sango snapped irritably.

The Fading-green-that-was-originally-blue-according-to-Sango haired fan's lips puckered in squeaking sobs and tears slid out of her wretchedly wide, sad eyes.

"Oh, crying now, are we?" Sango noted testily. "Well, calm down then, you don't need to be this way just because I'm scolding you. No? Still crying? What's the matter? _Do you want a hug?_" Sango hissed, arms opening, advancing menacingly closer.

The girl let out an anguished and frightened cry and ran away, hands covering her tear-streaked little face.

Kagome took the opportunity to look around. She caught several girls who had frozen in the act of walking towards their table. She noted with pleasure that they abruptly sat back down again as Sango took a deep breath.

Sango turned to face the Higurashi's, face flushed with embarrassment. Biting her lip, she sat back down onto her chair and took another deep breath, wringing her hands in her lap.

"I'm sorry about that. I was going to tell you about this but… I'm usually very controlled however…sometimes my temper just gets out of hand," Sango said, flinching sheepishly. "I suppose I won't be seeing you again," she sighed dejectedly. "I'll pay for the drinks."

Kagome and Miroku turned to look at each other. They had both just been newly made aware of the special qualities that separated Sango from the rest of the candidates and marked her as The One (damned if they knew what these qualities were. They were there and that was enough). Their eyes narrowed and simultaneously beamed pointed looks of Psychic Sibling Communication to each other. (Kagome's look said, _if you don't hire her in the next few seconds, I'm going to vocally test my lung capacity in the loudest way possible right here and now. _Miroku replied, _I am wounded, _wounded,_ that you think you have to remind me in such a way_. Kagome replied back, _you'd be surprised._) They gave the tiniest, most inconspicuous of nods and turned to Sango.

"On the contrary, Eiri-san," Miroku said, smiling. "This interview is not over yet."

He leisurely stretched out his arms, amusedly noting Sango's nervous face and pointedly ignoring Kagome's glare and threatening deep breaths.

"You mentioned to that girl that you _wanted _and _needed _this job," Miroku casually noted. "Could you tell us why?"

Sango blinked her eyes, as if she were expecting a question much worse. She still looked anxious as she replied.

"To be honest, I need a change of scenery. I want to get out of Japan and explore the rest of Asia. And, frankly, I can't find any jobs here. My interviewers at business companies were skeptical of my abilities and my college graduation. They all told me to come back when I turned twenty-one..." Sango seethed at the memory. "So the circumstances of this job are perfect. I'll be getting out of the country and making a suitable living simultaneously. Assuming I'm hired of course," Sango added nervously.

She cringed to herself as Miroku nodded thoughtfully.

"I suppose with the… display I made just now I don't seem like a worthy candidate," Sango said forlornly.

Miroku face contorted into an array of shocked emotions.

"Display?" he said incredulously. "Eiri Sango-san, why do you think defending my little sister would give me the slightest doubt of your worthiness as her tutor? In fact, it's done just the opposite!"

And, after a pointed look to Kagome, Miroku held out a hand to Sango.

"You're hired," Miroku proclaimed, beaming at a wondrous, gapping Sango. "Oh, and I'm paying for the drinks," he added as an afterthought.

.

.

TBC

.

And now for something completely different! A long author's and cultural note combined:

While Miroku, Kagome, and Sango are from Japan, the majority of this fic will take place in Hong Kong, therefore there will be some Cantonese language every now and then (maybe even Mandarin if I decide for them to venture into Mainland China). I'll try to keep it to a minimum and I'll explain some things here. And before you ask, yes, I am Chinese myself and both of my parents were born and grew up in Hong Kong. I've been to Hong Kong five times. I guess I'm a little more than half fluent in Cantonese, I mean I can understand almost all Cantonese that's spoken around me but my accent is laughable.

First, the Chinese honorifics (for lack of a better word). Like in Japanese, Chinese people attach little words to the end of a name to indicate some kind of relationship.

You would address someone older than you, but old enough to be a sibling, as an elder brother/sister ("goh" or "jeh," respectively). It would be the same thing for a younger person ("dai" or "mou"). So for example, you would address a friend's sibling (or your sibling's friend) who is older than you as "XXX-goh" or "XXX-jeh"

This is the same principle for someone old enough to be your parent. You would address that person as uncle or aunt ("bak" or "yee"). You would address an elderly as a grandparent ("gong" or "pau").

Sometimes, you repeat the honorific twice. So instead of "XXX-goh" for example, it would be "XXX-goh goh." The repeated honorific version would be something that kids or close relations would say to each other. It's merely a more cutesy and affectionate way to address someone.

And in case you're still confused, here's a small dictionary:

Goh- elder brother

Dai- younger brother

Bak- uncle

Gong- grandpa

Jeh- elder sister

Mou- younger sister

Yee- aunt

Pau- grandma

There are actually many ways to address people (I haven't said how to address classmates for one), but I'm going to try to just stick with these basics.

A final note: unlike Japanese (and Mandarin as well), there is no official system of transcribing Cantonese words into the alphabet (if there is one I'd be glad to know). Nope, nothing handy like that. So any Cantonese word I write out is what I feel is the best way to transcribe it. It's only guessing people. So "nay ho" (how are you) could just as easily be written as "nai hoe."

Really, Chinese isn't that confusing! It isn't! --'

But if you are, in fact, still confused…sorry. I'll try to explain the honorifics more clearly to you if you are.


	2. Prologue, Part II: Healing

_Prologue, Part II: Healing_

_._

_._

On the day before their departure to Hong Kong, Kagome walked out of the house. First she lit candles at her parents and Souta's shrines and meditated for a few minutes. Then she strolled along the temple grounds, pausing here and there to feel the wind blow on her face or to gaze quietly at a tree. At each stop, her mind took a snapshot with her eyes, permanently storing away the images in her memories. She would miss the temple and its tranquility and peace. It didn't matter that Miroku would take her to see more exciting and adventurous places. In Kagome's mind, the temple would always be home.

The three months since Kagome's fight had been mixed. Kagome had gone back to school with a varied state of mind. Her classmates had held her in high esteem after the fight but it was the kind of esteem reserved for a dangerous beast. She promised never to raise a fist against her classmates again, but that did nothing to improve their attitudes. It was hard seeing fear and dislike in the eyes of her classmates whenever they looked at her. Despite her fierceness against the three girls, Kagome at heart was soft and sensitive. Being ostracized by her classmates was troubling and more than once Kagome broke down crying during recess.

At some point in the months, Kagome remembered that she might not be staying here forever. She remembered that there was a chance that she would be staying with Miroku away from the people who pitied her. Once Miroku turned eighteen, she could escape and start a new life. This thought alone prevented Kagome from slipping into total depression. Whenever she felt like curling up into a ball, she remembered that Miroku would take her away in just a few months from it all. No more stares behind her back. No more whispers. No more unwanted fear. It would all go away. Just like that. Then again, it was only a chance of escape after all. It might be that she would endure this pain all her school life. But it didn't matter to Kagome because a chance was enough for her.

Maybe it was not a completely healthy way of thinking, but it helped calm and sooth Kagome's child's mind. The months flew past and suddenly Miroku was eighteen, legally recognized as an adult, all grown up. It was enough of a rush to make Kagome forget that her twelfth birthday had gone by too.

At the moment, cars containing luggage were driving towards the airport. The same cars would transport the Higurashi's and Sango tomorrow.

Kagome's wanderings led in random circles. Eventually, her feet brought her to the base of the oldest tree in the shrine grounds. The Goshinboku tree had been a part of the Higurashi home for as far as the family could remember, and perhaps even farther than that.

The wind whistled gently through the leaves. The sounds of crinkling leaves and birdsongs floated in the air. She arched her head back and gazed up at the softly swaying branches of the Goshinboku. They seemed to stretch up and beyond the limits of Kagome's sight, soaring all the way to the top of the sky.

_Where does the Goshinboku end? _It was a question her parents used to ask the Higurashi children from time to time, like a beloved nursery rhyme. Miroku had always answered, _all the way to the sky! _Souta: _To the sun! _Kagome would take a moment to think before answering: _It never ends!_

Kagome stood on her toes, hands braced against the tree trunk, and looked through the branches again. If she squinted, she could see bits of the twinkling blue sky through the endless entangling of branches and leaves.

_Where does the Goshinboku end?_

She stared up at the sky for a moment, then stepped back. She touched the soft tree bark for a moment and walked away. She did not look back. She'd come back.

_It never ends._

.

The first half of limo trip to the airport was fairly uneventful. The last half was overly eventful.

The only stop they made was at Sango's apartment. Miroku himself had gotten out of the car to ring her buzzer. Perhaps because it was so early in the morning and that he didn't find it necessary, but Miroku had neglected to wear his baseball cap disguise. He had even gone out with his hair tied back in his customary rattail.

With all his years of mobs and screaming fan girls, Kagome would have thought that Miroku knew his own neglect. Therefore she had no sympathy whatsoever when bouts of screaming suddenly echoed across the street as Sango stepped out of her apartment building. Kagome shook her head when young female heads suddenly appeared at windows, mouths formed round O's at the sight of Miroku. When fan girls and boys alike suddenly started stampeding toward them, Kagome sighed as a frantic Miroku and a confused Sango dashed into the limo, just barely making it before the fans' groping hands caught Miroku.

"Drive, drive!" Miroku yelled to the chauffeur.

The chauffeur, with many years of mob experience under his belt, obliged. Tires squeaked and they were off. Unfortunately the teenage population with driving licenses had seen Miroku and they too were off.

"Maybe if you stick your head up through the car roof and yell something at them, they'll go away," Sango suggested as they proceeded to a cat-and-mouse chase.

"Uh-uh," Kagome grunted, caught in a morning stupor. "People will just throw themselves onto the limo and get hurt. Then Miroku could get sued. Then there'd be more crowds," she pointed out, citing from experience.

"Very good Kagome," Miroku said distractedly. He was peering out of the tinted windows as girls leaned half out of car windows to blow kisses at the limo.

"Miroku, why is that girl over there slapping her butt?" Kagome asked curiously.

"I have no idea," Miroku replied hazily, eyes bugging.

Sango sat on her seat, staring at Miroku. "Wait a minute," she said. "I knew you were a celebrity, but are you that one who always fondles—"

"We're almost there, boss," the chauffeur interrupted.

"Thanks Jin," Miroku answered with a carefully straight face.

Word tended to spread quickly whenever something involved Miroku. As a result, a farewell crowd awaited them at the airport. Throngs of people were yelling and hollering all manner of farewells. Some waved signs that Sango for some reason would not let Kagome see. (Kagome felt that this was an act of extreme injustice as Sango had only known her for a few days and therefore had no right to censor _signs_ or anything else for that matter.)

"Nooooooo," Miroku groaned, rubbing his face. "It's too early in the morning for crowds…"

A squad of police motorcycles escorted them into the airport parking lot. The crowd let out a roar as Sango stepped out of the limo, which quickly died down when they realized that Sango was not Miroku. They cheered again when Kagome stepped out, which lasted somewhat longer then Sango's cheer when they recognized her as Miroku's sister. The roar was deafening when Miroku strode out with once hand covering his eyes from the sun. The crowd surged against the police guards. Some girls even started crying.

"Don't go back to Hong Kong Miroku-chan!" a girl cried, sobbing against a police guard's arm.

"Stay here in Japan!" another yelled.

Miroku paused in the act of dashing away and faced his fans, turning slowly around so that they all had a glance at his face. He blew a kiss to them and grabbed Kagome's hand. He led his company in a dash through the crowds into the terminal.

The airport graciously let them board Miroku's private jet earlier than scheduled. As they took off into the air, there was once last cry of anguish and a chanting of "We love Miroku!" followed them out of Japan.

.

Miroku lived in a two-story, wall-to-wall carpeted penthouse containing four bedrooms, each with their own bathroom, a vast living room in which a nice-looking 48-inch TV sat at the far end complete with a VCR, DVD player, TiVo, and whatever video game software were most recent. The white-tiled kitchen contained a somewhat large refrigerator packed with food exploding to the brim. Here and there were little additional rooms that seemed to have no purpose but looked good and stylish anyway.

"I didn't live here before when I was alone. Don't know what I would have done with all this space," Miroku remarked as he gave Kagome and Sango a tour. "My agency generously bought this flat for me when I told them I was getting new housemates."

It was a bit of change for Kagome, who grew up in the simple, Spartan quality of the shrine grounds, and she never really became used to the sophisticated furnishings of the penthouse. She knew that before, Miroku had lived in a flat similar to this one, if a bit smaller, and it was a wonder that Miroku ever bothered coming home when he had a place so glamorous.

Miroku was usually away for the majority of the day but he always came back in time for dinner. Kagome was used to seeing Miroku much less often so a meal everyday with her brother was a huge improvement. He always came back with an apologetic look on his face and tried to make up for his absence as much as possible whenever he could.

Adjusting to Sango's presence was admittedly a bit of a pain, possibly because of her role in Kagome life. Kagome had never really been a serious scholar and ever since the Accident, she had given up on paying attention in school altogether. The prospect of beginning an education in which all her teacher's attention would be solely devoted to Kagome and Kagome alone made her a little bitter and apprehensive. Add to the list that this teacher would also serve as a live-in babysitter made education seem all the more annoying.

Kagome did not like to admit it but the fact that Sango was a genius and already a college graduate at age eighteen made her a little nervous as well.

One of the depressing aspects of Kagome's new education system was that there was nothing else to do during the day but be educated. Kagome was wholly terrified of venturing outside the apartment. She knew nothing of Cantonese (the only foreign language she had studied in school was English, but that didn't necessarily count. Kagome had only put a half-hearted effort into it and only wanted to learn it so that she could understand her Western cds) and she feared any sort of communication with the people of Hong Kong.

Unfortunately, Sango acknowledged this fear and wanted to remedy it. In the morning, as soon as Kagome was done eating breakfast, Sango would whisk Kagome out the door down to the street markets. As they bought food for the day's lunch, she would force Kagome to speak small phrases and pleasantries to the market employees, amid laughing and snickers at her accent. It was her way of curing the fear and helping Kagome practice using Cantonese.

Kagome would have been perfectly satisfied with lazing on the couch in front of the TV, but Sango had a strange way of dancing her away from the TV.

"All right, Kagome, let's go over these new words," Sango said, plopping down onto the couch next to her, a sheet of Chinese words in her hand.

Kagome did not refuse but she glared at the sheet anyway. Learning Cantonese was a struggle but it stood to reason that she should concentrate on this subject the most. All the different accents and pronunciations made her head whirl and she had to relearn every kanji character she knew and more.

"Come on now," Sango said encouragingly. "I know it's tedious but it'll pay off in the end."

And it did. By the end of the week, Kagome had gotten over her fears and knew enough Cantonese to ask for directions without anyone laughing at her accent. Surprisingly, after she had tackled the initial difficulty of mastering the subtle nuances of Cantonese, Kagome began to learn Cantonese at a strangely rapid pace. After a month of studying, Kagome picked enough Cantonese to venture outside into Hong Kong alone without fear. It helped that Sango was aware of Kagome's struggles. To make Cantonese learning easier, Sango devoted one day a week solely to watching movies. Often times, they watched Miroku's Hong Kong-based movies (although Sango was extremely selective about it. She seemed to harbor a deep mistrust of his movies' content for some odd reason).

Kagome did not notice her quick progress until she surprised herself and shocked Sango by swearing back at an irritable housewife in the market. Even Kagome had not known that that particular expletive had been in her personal vocabulary.

Kagome could not help but like Sango. When she was not in tutor-mode, Sango had the personality of the World's Best Sister Figure. She had a wide, open smile that practically gave off waves of trust and friendliness. At first, Kagome was slightly mistrustful of this Big Sister mood. But after a while, she found, to her surprise, that she genuinely enjoyed Sango's company (except the tutoring sessions, those were horrible and downright oppressive. Understanding as she was, Sango was a slave driver when it came to studies).

"So, you know how to speak Cantonese now, huh?" Miroku asked Kagome over dinner one night.

"I do, _goh goh_," Kagome answered cheerfully, addressing her older brother in Cantonese. "Well, I'm not completely fluent yet though."

"I'm sure you will be with Sango teaching you," Miroku said, nodding in compliment to Sango. "What'd you do today then?" Miroku wondered, turning to address Sango.

"Math!" Kagome blurted out, grabbing the chance to exhibit her keen, nonexistent love of mathematics in hopes of lessoning the work in that subject. This was already known; unfortunately her outburst was ignored.

"Oh nothing much," Sango answered demurely. "Although I think you should know, we were mobbed today outside the theatre."

"And did you get away from the mob?" Miroku asked serenely.

"Just barely!" Sango exclaimed. There was an edge to her voice. "It was quite dangerous you know. Those people are maniacs! They were _grabbing_ at Kagome—"

"Yeah, I don't know how we would have got away if Sango wasn't wearing boots," Kagome remarked.

Both eighteen-year olds swiveled around to stare at Kagome, one in a blushing state and the other in amused confusion.

"What do boots have to do with mobs, Kagome?" Miroku asked, mouth twitching in repressed laughter.

"This guy grabbed my sleeve and started pulling at it and Sango kicked him _hard _in the… the you-know-where, and he let go," Kagome said cheerfully. "Sango's boots have silver plate at the toe so the guy started crying. I don't think he would've cried if Sango kicked him with sandals," she remarked thoughtfully.

"I think he was crying because of the area she assaulted him in," Miroku said solemnly, raising an eyebrow in Sango's direction.

"Maybe," Kagome contemplated. "The guy called Sango a 'bat pau,' what does that mean?"

Miroku decided not to tell Kagome that the grabber had called Sango the equivalent of a bitch and looked back to Sango with an amused smile on his face.

Still blushing, Sango stuttered, "Miroku-san, I assure you, I…I don't always have…er…violent tendencies very much…"

Miroku flapped his chopsticks at her. "Don't worry about it. I confess, I'd forgotten to think about Kagome's personal security here. By all means, when it comes to Kagome's safety, use as many violent tendencies as you like."

Sango stared at Miroku but he dropped that subject.

"I'm sorry I've been neglecting you this past month," Miroku apologized dejectedly. "I wanted to spend more time with you but the timing's been horrible. I had to finish filming and then I had to work on the soundtrack almost right away."

"Don't worry about it," Kagome said.

"No, I've been horrible. I mean I became your legal guardian for a reason and I hardly see you at all."

Miroku folded his hands on the table expectantly. "How would you both like to come to my recording session tomorrow?"

Kagome lifted her head in gleeful anticipation. "Ooh, really?"

"Yes, really." Miroku cocked his head to the side. "Unless you'd like a vacation, Sango-san? A day to yourself? You haven't taken a day off ever since you started working for us." Miroku hummed to himself in thought. "Very insensitive of me, shameful actually. I probably never gave you a chance to complain, did I?"

Sango looked like she was going to protest but then she paused.

"Oh, I see, Higurashi-san," she said, enlightened. "Of course, I see. You've been so busy and I'm sure you want to spend time with Kagome alone."

"Er…"

"Yes, I shouldn't accompany you after all." Sango smiled. "All right. I'll take that day off."

"Very good," Miroku confirmed with a nod.

.

In the morning, much to her chagrin, Miroku shook Kagome awake up early at 6:30. When she feebly tried to pull the covers over her head, he only smiled and effortlessly threw them off the bed.

"Time to get up!" he said cheerfully. "We're going to be late! Let's go!"

Kagome groaned and squinted up at him blearily. "But it's so _early_," she moaned.

"Well we do have to get to the studio by 7:15, which gives you—" he checked his watch, "—about twenty minutes to make yourself decent if we want to leave by 6:50."

Twenty minutes later, Miroku half-dragged and half- led a sleepy Kagome down to the lobby where they met his driver and bundled into the car. When they arrived at the studio, Kagome was handed a pastry.

"Breakfast," said Miroku, smiling merrily.

He then rushed Kagome into the building, and whizzed her past various staff members and employees of the company. It seemed to be seconds later that Miroku settled her down on a chair and loudly introduced his sister to the crew members around them. The employees paused in their duties to greet "Nay ho!" before turning back again. Miroku shoved a pair of headphones around her neck and then dashed off to talk to various people, leaving Kagome to stare blearily at her pastry.

Blink blink.

After a moment, Kagome remembered what to do with the pastry. Chewing on a bite, she looked around, observing as Miroku smiled sheepishly as a woman berated him for being late with loud Cantonese.

"It was only ten minutes, Jun," he said in defense.

"Do you know how expensive each minute in here is? Did you oversleep or something?" Jun scolded.

"No, we stopped by a pastry shop and then someone recognized me," Miroku said, shrugging.

Kagome frowned. She did not particularly remember seeing one of Miroku's fans, but then she did not quite remember stopping by a pastry shop either.

Jun threw her hands up, muttering. Miroku smirked and winked at Kagome.

"She's the producer, the boss lady," Miroku said, making the effort to raise his voice ever so slightly.

"Boss lady makes me sound so _old_," Jun said, scowling ill naturedly at Miroku. But she smiled amiably at Kagome.

"Kagome _mou-mou_," she said, addressing Kagome as a little sister. "You can just call me Jun _jeh-jeh_."

"More like Jun-_yee_," Miroku sniped playfully. "Ow!"

Kagome's eyes widened as Jun swiped her brother on the head again and widened a little more as Miroku laughed good-naturedly. Getting up in the morning really sucked.

"Um," she said. "Why do I have to call you Big sister? Or Aunt?" she added in confusion.

Miroku waved a hand. "It's a Chinese courtesy," he explained. "Girls address others older than them as Big Sister or Brother and middle-aged people as Aunt or Uncle."

"I am not middle-aged! I'm still young!" Jun snapped. This time, Kagome giggled when she cuffed him on the head.

Kagome had only just mentally congratulated herself for not being laughed at for her accent when Jun abruptly turned to the room and clapped her hands for attention.

"All right! Miroku's here! Let's get started!" she announced.

Kagome observed as the previously chaotic and wild studio suddenly became organized and ready to work. The crewmembers sat in their positions. Miroku gave Kagome a little wave and went behind a glass wall with a microphone set up in the middle.

"Kagome."

She looked up as Jun motioned her to move her chair closer to the glass wall to have a better view.

"I see Miroku already gave you headphones, very good," Jun observed. "Put them on," she commanded.

Once Kagome (and everyone else in the recording studio) snapped the headphones securely on her head, Jun nodded to the engineer at the controls.

"Alright, this is take one," she said into a microphone at the controls table as she swiveled up next to the engineer. "Miroku, can you hear yourself?"

"Just fine," Kagome heard Miroku reply through her headphones.

"Good. Now start…now."

Miroku nodded and suddenly Kagome heard a piano playing.

She looked up and blinked hard, willing herself to wake up. Inside the padded recording room, Miroku sat at a black, grand piano. The sight caused Kagome a small stir of memory. Miroku had begun studying the piano at age ten, but Kagome had never been certain if he continued to play after his celebrity comeback. She wondered how he found the time to practice in his busy schedule.

After the first few bars of piano playing, Miroku leaned slightly forward and crooned into the mike. Surprisingly, the lyrics were in Japanese. And they were the cheesiest lyrics Kagome had ever heard.

Her disgust must have shown on her face as she fervently prayed that no one would ever sing those lyrics to _her _when there was a small tap on her shoulder.

She turned to see Jun grinning at her.

"We're going to record three versions of this song," Jun explained. "Cantonese, for the Canton and Hong Kong release," she said, counting on her fingers. "Mandarin, for Mainland China and Taiwan release, and Japanese, for the obvious country. I didn't write the lyrics," she added. "Terrible, aren't they? We're recording the ending theme for Miroku's latest soap opera, you see."

Kagome agreed passionately and expressed her disgust at Miroku wasting his vocal talents on such things like this.

Jun opened her mouth to reply and then snapped her head to glare at Miroku.

"No, no, you can't slow down in this part, you're professing your love, not dying," she snapped. "Stop the recording! We're starting over! Alright, take two!"

There was a chorus of moans and they began again.

Kagome frowned in confusion. "What was wrong with it?" she asked. "It didn't sound that bad."

"Kagome dear, that was only the first recording. We're going to go through a lot of tries before it's perfect…Miroku, you're breathing louder than you're singing. What are you doing, drowning? Again! Take three!"

At take seven, Jun was silent, allowing Miroku to actually finish playing the song. She switched off the recording and leaned back in her chair, fingering her chin thoughtfully. The room held their breath…

"It was good…" she said with a touch of uncertainty and doubt. The room breathed.

"But your piano playing just drowns you out," Jun added.

She barely flinched at the chorus of loud complaints.

"Well that's what we have this stuff for," Jun replied, waving a hand out the control table. "Why are you all moaning? We'll just up the vocals and downplay the piano. That's your job, Mr. Mixer." She pointedly looked at the man next to her, who flinched. "Okay, Cantonese now. Take one."

Miroku seemed to have a better idea of what Jun expected in the song. It only took three takes to get it right.

"Miroku is wonderfully attuned to sound," Jun commented to Kagome as they recorded the Mandarin vocals. "Very sensitive ears he has."

Kagome beamed with pride at her compliments to Miroku. "Yeah, my brother is really talented," she agreed.

"Yes, there is talent. I only wish he'd take it more seriously," Jun muttered. "He picks up foreign languages so easily too. It took me years of studying in school to learn Mandarin and he's already fluent after a few months." She looked at Kagome. "How long did it take for you to become fluent in Cantonese?"

Kagome shrugged. "About a month. But I'm not completely fluent yet."

"Really? Your accent is very good. Guess you must be very- MIROKU HOW DARE YOU CHANGE THE LYRICS THAT WAY!"

Kagome's head whipped up in time to catch Miroku's twinkling smirk and wink. Around her, the crew muttered things like, "Obscene, just obscene," and "We're not recording a sex tape for god's sake."

Kagome's shouts of, "What? What? What did he say?" were deliberately ignored.

"Do you want to die!You can't just sing something like that!" Jun roared into the microphone. "This is a family drama! We'll have little children listening to this! Begin again!"

Kagome took off her headphones, stood up and walked around prodding people, but it was soon made clear that no one was going to tell her what Miroku sang. Pouting, she sat back down on her chair and felt sorry for herself for not knowing Mandarin.

It had taken an unbelievably long time to record just one song (in three different languages yes, but still). Kagome began to get a little bored and started spinning around in her chair and got herself tangled in the headphone wires as a result. As she untied herself, Kagome realized two things.

First, that she had always taken Miroku's fame for granted. Kagome knew that Miroku was talented, it was a given really. She could not picture her brother without adding "perfect" to the image. But she had never truly appreciated Miroku's abilities. Miroku's current performance was slightly downplayed by the cheesy lyrics, but Kagome could still recognize hints and signs of genius. She wondered why this genius only manifested in hints. It seemed obvious to Kagome that Miroku was holding back something great and giant. In other words, Miroku was not putting in the effort to turn this cheesy love song into something meaningful, like he didn't _care _about holding back. Kagome was bothered and annoyed by this.

But then again, this _was _only just a cheesy love song. Now that she thought of it, it wasn't really worth putting effort into. Those lyrics…

Kagome felt a little better and relaxed.

Second, Miroku's excellent sensitivity to sound was hereditary. Both of the Higurashi parents were not professional musicians but they were talented nevertheless, and they both loved music as more than just a hobby. Papa played piano and often sang with an amateur singing group comprised of his old college friends. Mama studied music in college but never pursued a musical career, choosing to stay with her children instead. Mama seemed to know how to play any instrument in the world, except, ironically, piano. Often times, Mama and Papa would provide an evening's entertainment with a musical duet: Mama playing an instrument of her choice and Papa accompanying her on the piano and joining in with a rich, booming base voice.

And at this realization, Kagome's high spirits plummeted and died.

Kagome's chair now faced the recording room. She put her feet onto the chair and hugged her knees, gaze staring at Miroku as he sang. She could feel her sight beginning to wax over as a film of wetness glazed over her eyes.

Papa… Mama…

It was a tenor version of Papa's voice singing through Kagome's headphones. The same tonality and the same effortless brilliance in his voice, only difference being in the higher pitches and notes. The same facial expressions Papa made and the same phrasing and accents he made on certain notes and the same way Papa closed his eyes as he took a quick breath. If she pictured Papa's face on the youth playing piano, there would have been little difference between the two as far as body movement was concerned.

Kagome's gaze lowered to the keyboard. Papa's fingers were thick and plump, not the ideal fingers of a pianist. Ironically, Mama's fingers were perfect for piano playing: long, slender, and flexible. Miroku's fingers were almost identical to Mama's. He played in the way that Mama would have if she had ever learned how to play piano. There was the same rhythmic swaying as the melody rose and fell and the calm, steady style of playing with slight variations and inconsistencies of the beat.

As she continued to watch Miroku, Kagome pondered how Souta would have performed if he were still alive. He had just begun learning the tenor sax. He had not advanced very much in three months so it was hard to tell how much he liked it. Had liked. Would he have enjoyed making music as much as the rest of his family? Which of Papa and Mama's musical traits would he have inherited? Would his voice be base or tenor? Or a combination of both, baritone? What if…

Kagome took a trembling breath. She woodenly took off her headphones and swiveled around so that her back faced that glass wall. Hastily, she wiped away stray tears before anyone would notice.

Her thoughts drifted back to the first realization. Why was Miroku holding back? Did not he know that Papa and Mama were singing through him? It was as if he repressed their parents by keeping back the true extent of his talent.

For the first time in her life, Kagome felt disappointed in Miroku.

She quickly pushed this foreign, repulsive emotion out of her mind and swiveled back around in her chair to face the glass wall.

.

It was a sweltering Hong Kong night. It was the kind of heat that hugged your body in a moist, sweaty embrace and floated all around in the air. Kagome had woken late at night drenched in sweat and had gone down to the kitchen for something cold to drink.

As she came back from the kitchen and started to close her bedroom door, Kagome heard a sound. Then there were footsteps.

It was dark but Kagome's eyes had already. She nervously inched her door closed, leaving a width of a few inches to peek out of, clutching her cup tightly. Were they burglars? How did they get in? How come she did not see them go up the stairs?

There were two shapes walking along the second floor corridor. They walked from opposite sides toward each other. It was too dark for Kagome to see who these two were but…

Kagome's room was situated at the end of the second floor corridor. If she stood in her doorway she could see straight down the corridor. Sango's room was at the opposite side of the corridor and Miroku's was in the middle.

The two figures had each appeared out of Sango and Miroku's room. Kagome relaxed when she realized that they were not burglars.

Both did not appear to notice each other. Thus, neither detoured from their path nor could they avoid the collision.

Sango squealed in a high-pitched feminine voice. Miroku's figure paused in surprise and the dark shadow of his arm waved at the air around him, feeling for the source of the squeal. Kagome almost giggled when Miroku's hand disappeared into the black space of the lower mid-region of Sango's silhouette. Sango stiffened.

Kagome thought, _oops_, to herself and waited for Miroku to move his hand away from Sango's nether regions.

Strangely, Miroku did not move his hand. Well, he was moving it, just not away from Sango's bottom.

Wait a minute.

If Kagome was not mistaken (and in the darkness, she really hoped she was), Miroku was groping Sango's butt.

Sango screamed. A black, silhouetted arm rose up. There was a smack. A head whipped back.

Pause.

Somebody reached into a room and flicked on the light.

Kagome blinked, blinded by the light, as Sango and Miroku stared at each other.

Sango reacted first.

"_Higurashi-san!_"

"Ah, Eiri-san."

Sango's back was rigid with anger and her fists clenched.

"What do you think you're playing at, Higurashi-san?" Sango hissed.

"Oh, let me ex—"

"You are my _employer_!"

"Yes but—"

"This is _sexual harassment._"

"Please listen—"

"I'll have you know that I can sue you for sexual harassment! It is perfectly within rights--"

"Sango-san." Miroku's was soft but there was something that made Sango pause.

"Sango, I sincerely apologize for my inappropriate behavior. It was entirely accidental on my part and no doubt extremely shocking to you," Miroku said quietly.

"To say the least," Sango mumbled.

"I confess, it's a bit of a habit for my hand to…wander, you could say. You see, before Kagome became my ward, I… didn't always live alone. Sometimes, my…girlfriend you could say would spend the night and I would indulge in such behavior that I forced upon you tonight.

"I admit, I'm not in a very clear state of mind. So you see when I heard you I automatically identified you as a girl and then I acted out of habit. I assure you, it wouldn't have happened if it weren't so dark."

Miroku bowed his head in apology. "I am very sorry for my bad habits. But of course, you are entirely within your rights to sue me and resign, to say the least. If you want to, you may do so."

"I'm…" Sango began.

"But I do hope that you will not," Miroku added. "Sango-san…"

There was shuffling. Kagome squinted and saw that Miroku had fallen to his knees and grabbed a startled Sango's hands.

"If it were only me at stake I wouldn't care if you sued me three times over. But Kagome… You've been so good to Kagome. I brought her away from Japan so to help her heal but I'm never here when she needs me. Your presence has such a good effect on her and she seems so much happier... Please, Eiri, for Kagome's sake, do not quit your job. If you despise me now I understand but… don't let tonight change things between you and my sister! She _needs _you."

Miroku's back faced Kagome so she could not see his face. But she could see Sango's stunned expression, eyes widened, mouth gapping slightly. Slowly, Sango set her mouth and looked down at Miroku with an unreadable expression.

"If you hadn't interrupted me," Sango said coldly, "you would have known that, although it's tempting, I was never going to charge you with sexual harassment."

Miroku's head sharply tilted up.

"I can't leave Kagome," Sango continued. "I put a lot of effort in gaining her trust and I can't just throw it away now."

Miroku's back visibly relaxed. "So we can just forget about this?" he asked.

"I suppose, as long as this never happens again," Sango said, sighing. She politely helped Miroku back to his feet and gently disentangled her hands from his. She was about to turn back but stopped.

"You're wrong about one thing, Higurashi-san," she said. "Kagome… I don't know what she was like before in Japan, maybe the way she is now is an improvement but… Kagome isn't as happy as you think. Whatever sadness you wanted to take her away from… it hasn't gone completely away yet."

"What do you mean?" Miroku asked.

"I am in her company much more often than you are. You don't think I notice these things?"

Sango yawned. "I was just going down to get something to drink but I don't think I'm very thirsty anymore." With a nod and mumbled "Good night Higurashi-san," Sango turned around and walked back into her room.

Miroku leaned an arm on the wall and stood there for a moment. He turned his head to look over his shoulder.

Kagome quickly shut the door before he caught sight of her. She leaned against her door and took a few breaths.

As she climbed back onto her bed and tossed the damp covers onto the floor, Kagome replayed the overheard conversation and closed her eyes in shock.

Kagome's adolescent mind recoiled from the perversion in her brother. What was Miroku _doing_, groping Sango like that? And he said it was from habit. _Habit?_ That meant Miroku probably groped girls on a regular basis. But this was _Miroku_, her big brother, her perfect big brother. Miroku was not one of those perverted, gross people…

It had occurred to Kagome before that there were things about Miroku's celebrity life that he kept from her. She had never questioned it and it was easy to forget that there might be things that could shatter her perfect image of Miroku. But lately Kagome had begun to notice small dents and scratched in that image.

This latest weakness was a huge cut in the image, a slash from the sword of perverted conduct.

And what was Sango talking about?

_"I put a lot of effort in gaining her trust and I can't just throw it away now."_

That was ridiculous. Kagome had trusted Sango ever since the interview. She knew that someone who could stand up to Miroku's rabid fans was the perfect person to stay and live with them. Her trust deepened as Sango settled into her life. Sango was like a sister to Kagome.

Didn't Sango know that? Didn't she know that Kagome would accept her no matter how much effort she put into gaining trust? Why did Sango doubt this?

But still, Sango had not known Kagome for that long. What right did she have to judge her happiness?

Kagome was perfectly happy and content. She had gotten what she desired. She was living with Miroku, someone who understood her. She was away from her infuriating classmates. She had a wonderful tutor and plenty of things to distract her from the deaths…

The deaths…

In the living room, on the decorative mantle piece, there was a photo of Papa, Mama, and Souta. Sometimes, Kagome would find her gaze drawn to that picture. She would observe this picture, noting the smiles of the dead ones, the joyful expressions in their eyes. Kagome could stare for long stretches of time at this picture before something called for her attention.

Was it this staring that caused Sango to believe that she was still grieving? Well, of course Kagome was grieving, and she would never stop. But Kagome had already recovered from the intense pain and loss. She had, she really had. She did not even cry anymore.

The tears on her cheeks contradicted this thought. Kagome buried her face into the pillow. No, she _did_ cry sometimes. Late at night when Sango and Miroku had gone to bed, Kagome would stay up and sob. She never wanted to cry. The tears always just came on their own.

So many images began to crack. Miroku, tears, life…

Kagome forcefully pushed it away and fell asleep.

.

"I have a surprise for you Kagome," Miroku said to his sister, some days later, as they ate dinner.

Kagome looked up expectantly. "What is it?" she asked in excitement.

Miroku smiled mischievously. He crooked a beckoning finger. "It's in the piano room," he said, standing up.

The piano room was located in a corner of the first floor. It was a plain and possibly boring looking room as compared to the glamour of the rest of the penthouse with its plain white walls and nondescript rug. But the beauty of the room lay in its contents. Overhead studio lights created a glowing kind of aura around the black, grand piano. In the piano room, Miroku kept up his performing skills, often singing as he practiced playing his latest song. Often, he had Kagome play out the melody of a new song he had to learn for the next recording. Sango hardly ever came into the piano room. It was Miroku and Kagome's special place.

Kagome's anticipation grew at Miroku's mention of the piano room. She eagerly followed him and looked around wildly for the surprise. When she found it, she stopped short.

On the piano lid lay a curved, rectangular instrument case. Kagome recognized it immediately and turned to Miroku in confusion. Miroku only nudged his chin toward it.

Taking a shaking breath, Kagome approached the piano apprehensively. Maybe her eyes were just playing tricks on her mind. It could not be what she thought it was. Miroku would not do that to her… By the time Kagome reached it, she was almost convinced that she had never seen the instrument case in her life. She slowly undid the strapping of the case and, with trembling fingers, she opened it.

Inside lay a glossy wooden instrument. The viola was beautiful. It shimmered brightly as the overhead lights shone upon the surface. Scarcely able to believe it, Kagome hesitantly ran a finger along the black fingerboard, gently plucking the strings. There was a bow placed along the lid and a cake of rosin in a small compartment to the side. Kagome's finger ran across the chin rest and traced the engraved name. _Higurashi…_

Kagome snatched her finger away and sharply closed the lid. She collapsed, trembling hands gripping the edge of the piano.

"How could you," she whispered. "Miroku how could you?"

She could not see Miroku's reaction but she felt him come up beside her.

"How could you," Kagome repeated. "This is Mama's viola!"

"You haven't touched a viola for almost a year," Miroku commented. "I thought it was about time you restarted your viola lessons."

Kagome looked up at him with wide, blurry eyes.

"Kagome," Miroku said kindly. "I've already asked the principal violist in the Hong Kong Symphony to give you lessons. What will I tell her after she generously agreed to teach you in her free time? Kagome," he said, giving her a little shake, "can't you at least give it a try? You used to love playing viola."

"This is Mama's viola," she said again.

"She gave it to you a few weeks before she died. It was little big for you then but you've grown a little bit so you should be able to handle a full size viola now," Miroku continued calmly.

"Miroku listen to me!" Kagome shouted. She shoved away the viola case across the piano lid. "This is Mama's, not mine! And I don't want to learn the viola_._"

He raised an eyebrow. "You don't _want _to, do you?"

"_No_," Kagome screamed.

Miroku's face was uncharacteristically serious and grim.

"Kagome-chan, you shouldn't let Mama's death stop you from making music," he said to her.

Kagome's chin began to wobble as tears spilled from her eyes and mucus built up and leaked from her nostrils.

"Nothing's _stopping _me," she said stubbornly. "I just don't want to anymore."

"Are you afraid?" Miroku asked. "Do you think Mama's ghost will appear when you start playing her viola? It's not even Mama's viola anymore. It's _yours_. She passed it down to _you_."

"But Mama's never going to hear me play," Kagome screeched. "She's _gone_. I can't play her viola without being reminded about…about the…"

Miroku placed an arm tightly around his sister's shoulders and looked her full in the face.

"Look, Kagome-chan. Mama would have wanted you to play on her viola. She's always wanted you to. Don't you remember? She always urged you to grow up so that your arms would be long enough to play it.

"You can't just quit learning forever after playing viola for six years. Mama gave you a talent. Do you think she would want you to throw it away? And how do you think she'd feel if she found out you wouldn't play because of _her_?"

"Mama has nothing to do with that," Kagome insisted. She wiped her nose on her sleeve. "Nothing," she repeated.

Miroku reached across the piano and pulled back the viola case.

"You see this, Kagome? Mama loved playing the viola. She played out her soul when she performed. I think some of her soul is still in the viola. Don't you want to bring out some of it? I think that when you learn to play again, you can let out some of her soul. It'll be like Mama's back here again with us."

Through her tear-stained eyes, Kagome glowered at Miroku.

"You're so…_stupid_," Kagome screamed. "Mama's _gone_. They're _all gone_. She's _never coming back!_"

She tried to break out of Miroku's grasp but he kept a firm hold. He let her sob against his shirtfront.

It was just too much. Everything in Kagome's world was breaking down into pieces. Miroku was becoming a brother that she did not recognize, someone she never thought he was capable of coming, someone imperfect. Kagome could accept this. It was unfair of her to not let Miroku have _some _faults. But she did not know if she could ever forgive him for trying to bring back Mama like this.

Miroku gripped Kagome's shoulders and gently pushed her face from his shirt so that he could look her in the face and bent down. Even on his knees his face almost at a height with Kagome's.

"I know it's hard to live with the fact that they're dead. Mama, Papa, Souta… remember our conversation back then? When we first talked of you living with me? Do you remember the reason why Grandpa let you come?"

Kagome nodded tearfully.

"Tell me."

"Because I was sad…" Kagome drifted off. What had she been? "Sad" didn't seem like the right word. It didn't describe what she was like right after the deaths.

"We thought that a change would help you overcome your sadness. Maybe I could help you in ways that Grandpa couldn't. But," he took a tissue and began to wipe her face, "it doesn't look like I helped very much, did I?

"I feel terrible about it," Miroku muttered, holding the tissue to her nose, dabbing away the mucus. "And guilty, yes, extremely guilty. I didn't try very hard. I hardly see you… I was used to only being responsible for myself. I tried to put you before work but it wasn't enough and I wasn't strong enough to fight for it.

"I failed you as a brother and I know it. I don't know what else to do. I thought that bring the viola back from Japan might help you with your grief but it's not and I've failed again. Will you try at least? For me? For Mama?"

He looked so desperate and tired, immensely tired. Kagome could see the way his eye lids drooped in distress just slightly beneath their normal level of liveliness. Desperation did not look right on Miroku. It was alien, wrong, and unnatural.

It was her fault.

"I'll…' she croaked. Her throat felt dry and sore from shouting but she tried again. "Maybe…try lessons…a few first."

.

During the month of October, Miroku's filming schedule brought him back to Tokyo. His agents raised eyebrows in surprise when he arrived at the airport accompanied by his sister and her tutor, but they wisely decided not to question his companions.

Kagome looked at this return to Japan with mixed feelings. She was eager to see Grandpa again. They had not gone to visit him during the three months and Kagome found that she had missed his presence. But on the other hand, she was going back to a place of many dark memories. And it was almost a full year after Papa, Mama, and Souta had died.

Miroku and Kagome agreed to perform a small recital on the anniversary of the Accident. When the day arrived, they ushered their small audience of two into the Music Room. Inside, Sango and Grandpa sat beside a small altar that Kagome and Miroku had set up earlier. The picture of Papa, Mama, and Souta sat behind three candles.

Kagome nodded to Miroku and they both approached the altar. Miroku struck a match. He shifted his grip so that Kagome could hold the match as well. Together, they lit the three candles. Kagome blew out the match.

Miroku took up his place at the piano and nodded for Kagome to speak.

Kagome nodded back and turned to address her audience.

"I've been working with sensei for just a little over two months, but she wants me to perform at her student recital. She said I'd be the only violist there because most of her students play violin."

She watched her audience nervously. Grandpa looked nothing short of proud and Sango had a small smile on her face. Her gaze turned to other three members of the audience.

Taking a breath, she continued, "I'll be playing this piece for the recital, so this is kind of like a rehearsal for me. You may notice, Miroku is using the music score but I'm not. This will be the first time I perform this memorized. Sorry if I make mistakes," she added.

Kagome bowed to the audience and took her viola, placing it under her chin. She nodded to Miroku to start.

Miroku smiled in reply and raised his hands. He brought them down with a sprightly introduction, his fingers lively and light upon the twinkling keys of the piano.

Kagome tapped her feet to the rhythm and patiently waited for her entrance. When she heard the vivacious and animated melody sway and lapse into a quiet and lulling lullaby, Kagome brought up the bow to her viola and began.

The first note was a long half note played with a wavering vibrato that quickened and frenzied as her bow moved. And then a succession of vibrating notes up to the G-string and then an arpeggio sequence back to the C-string. Kagome closed her eyes at this point as she played, trusting her fingers to know what they were doing.

_"The viola is probably the sexiest of all instruments."_

The corner of Kagome's mouth crinkled up at this thought. Mama had a soft spot for the viola and took every opportunity to tout its brilliance to Kagome when she had started taking lessons at age six. Mama had particularly sensual opinions.

Kagome's mind jumped back a little bit further into the past.

_"I want you to learn a string instrument. But which one?" _

_ Mama and Kagome stood in front of the piano, lid closed. Two instrument cases lay open before them. One viola and one violin. They had already been tuned and their shoulder rests attached. Their accompanying bows rested beside them, already tightened, ready to perform._

_ "Hm…"_

_ Mama picked up the violin and plucked the strings absently. Then she switched to the viola and did the same thing. She glanced at Kagome with a thoughtful expression._

_"Listen to this." Mama plucked the C-string of the viola. It trembled and rumbled against her fingertip. The deep, low sound shivered across Kagome's face and made her giggle. "See? You can not only hear the sound, but you can feel it on your skin." Kagome nodded in agreement. _

_ "People always describe the viola as merely a _big violin_," Mama said, waving a hand in dismissal. "I think it's the other way around. The viola is a viola. The violin is only a _smallviola_. This C-string? The violin doesn't have it. Sure, the violin has an E-string and the viola doesn't, but that doesn't mean we can't play the notes on an E-string."_

Kagome opened her eyes for a moment to concentrate on a trying staccato passage. Miroku had it easy: all he had to play were long, minor chords. Kagome's part was particularly difficult as the staccato was done in a combination of light, spiccato brush strokes and heavy, brusque, marcato bows. To complicate it even more, the staccato notes in question were quick, little sixteenth notes that spread all across the fingerboard, forcing Kagome into a rapid succession of shifting from first position to fourth to second… It had taken much concentration and practice to get it right. Kagome thought it was a miracle that she managed to memorize this passage.

But she was doing it. Two months of hard practice and she had gotten nearly all of her old skill back. Not all of it of course, but she was getting there. She even had the beginnings of thin, red calluses on the fingertips of her left hand.

The staccato fell back onto the C-string and here, Kagome really concentrated. Here, she had to hook all the staccatos into one long bow and it was all done in the loudest fortissimo she could possibly manage. Since it took place on the lowest string, Kagome elbow was brought up high and her wrist was bent to a steep angle. It was a very trying passage.

_"The viola can give you a huge sound if you ask nicely. See how it echoes? It rolls right up your spine. See? Beauty and sophistication right there. Sexy isn't it? The viola is probably the sexiest of all instruments."_

Kagome closed her eyes again. At the climax of the frantic staccatos, the yelping melody gradually entered sostinuto, slowing down bit by bit, until it started to purr in deep, tensed, vibrating whole notes.

This was the bit where Miroku began the piano solo. At the moment, all Kagome had to do was pluck out chords at the appropriate places in pizzicato.

Here she let her mind reminisce again.

_"We need more violists in the world."_

_ "Why Mama?"_

_ "There's too many violinists of course." _

_ Nine-year-old Kagome reframed from pointing out that Mama herself was a violinist as well as a violist. As well as many other –ists as well._

_ "There are too many pianists as well."_

_ "Oh Mama…"_

_ "What? It's true! Every child takes piano lessons at one point! It's easy to play. All you do is hit the key and you have a sound. No work at all. It's so easy it's cheating."_

_ Mama maintained a healthy bias against the piano. It was worth wondering why she had married Papa, who was a passionate pianist. _

_ "That's not true, dear," he defended now._

_ "Oh really? Well, with string instruments, you have to _work _to play a note. You have to tune it right, bow at the right angle, use a certain amount of force… The piano is really very overrated, you take my word for it Kagome-chan."_

_ "Hah! String players can't play more than four notes at a time! And string players can only handle _one _melodic line! ONE! Pianists, on the other hand, play contradicting, complex, intertwining melodies! Violists on the other hand-"_

_ "Pianists can't vibrate though, can they?"_

_ Then they both burst out laughing and kissed._

There was a flourish of scales and diminished seventh chords and Miroku's solo ended at a grand finale, signaling the beginning of the recapitulation of the concerto. Kagome crept her way from the background into the melody again. Now, they both played furiously, replaying the original melody with variations and slightly more endearing dynamics.

_Four-year-old Souta led Mama down into the music room, where the rest of the family gathered. They were well prepared for their arrival due to Souta's loud insistence that Mama was not to peek and that she would most certainly be delightfully surprised for what Papa, Miroku, and Kagome had in store for them. _

_ "We're HERE!" Souta yelled as he stopped just outside the closed door. "Are you ready?" _

_ "Just about," Papa called. Then he turned to Miroku at the piano and Kagome, who was tucking her viola underneath her chin. He mouthed, "One, two, three, four," and then they were off._

_ At the signal of the first few bars, Souta opened the door and ushered Mama in. She laughed out loud in delight as Miroku and Kagome started a rendition of an old, Hollywood love song. Kagome's bow quivered slightly due to immense excitement and Miroku kept missing notes as he kept looking up to see Mama's reaction. Papa leaned against the piano lid, snapping his fingers to the beat. And then he began._

_ "Some day," he cooed, sauntering toward Mama, arms spread wide. "When I'm awfully low, when the world is cold..."_

_ Mama seemed to be in indecision on whether or not she should laugh or smile. She seemed to reach a compromise and settled by grinning a glowing smile and chuckling delightfully, hands clasped on Souta's shoulders. _

_ "Lovely ... Never, ever change," Papa continued, nearing Mama. "Keep that breathless charm…" Souta dashed to the sided as Papa took Mama in his arms and began to dance her around the room. "Won't you please arrange it? 'Cause I love you." He dipped Mama back. _

_ "Just the way you look…" Papa nuzzled her face with his nose, "…to…night…"_

_ Kagome and Souta simultaneously shouted, "EW!" and Miroku made a face as Papa dropped a deep kiss on Mama's lips. Luckily, Kagome and Miroku still had the sense to continue playing and they finished with a grand flourish. _

_ Papa and Mama moved apart and looked at their observant and disgusted children. Then they turned back to each other and grinned._

_ "Happy Valentines Day," Papa murmured and dipped Mama back with another kiss._

Kagome kept her eyes closed. She could just picture Papa reclining back in his chair, tapping his fingers to the beat. She saw Souta sitting next to him, trying to look bored. And Mama, smiling and hands clasped in pride as her head swayed slightly with the music.

Kagome opened her eyes and at the moment before the finish of the concerto, she saw them, sitting in those exact positions before the altar. They smiled at her. And then they disappeared.

Miroku and Kagome ended brilliantly. The sound of the final notes echoed against the walls, resonating and then disappearing amid the sounds of the clapping audience. Sango and Grandpa were both standing, applauding as their hands turned red.

Kagome took the viola from her chin and looked up, panting. She had not noticed that there were tears on her cheeks and did not bother to wonder how long she had been crying. She turned to the audience and bowed deeply to them. Then she turned to Miroku and bowed to him, rising up just in time to see him return his own bow and warm smile. Kagome turned to the clapping audience again. She stared at them, hard, breathing for dear life.

A sob escaped her throat and she turned to the altar. Kagome looked at the picture and bowed once more to the other three members of the audience. __

.

.

Edit: Forgot to disclaim something.

Song Credit: "The Way You Look Tonight," written and composed by Jerome Kern and Dorothy Fields.

And a little author's note:

To all you violinists, violists, and pianists who are reading this, if I've somehow offended you with Mr. and Mrs. Higurashi's comments, sorry, they were done in parody. I myself have played piano for 10 years and violin for 2.


	3. Chapter 1: Convocation

A/n 4/30/05. Bah. What is it with this chapter and edits? So, since FFN changed their policies regarding the usage of copyrighted song lyrics, even when said lyrics have been credited and were used solely for artistic purposes and have been claimed in absolutely no way and again, _were credited_, I've taken out the lyrics from this chapter. You'll know of their absence from the break in the flow, because they were there for _actual reasons_, and my little markings. As I said, I had actual purposes for those lyrics, and without them the section of the chapter they were in is very choppy and doesn't make any sense, and I mean it. Without the lyrics, it really doesn't make any sense at all, and yes, you will be _confused_ because of it. (Or maybe you'll be confused anyway, but whatever) So I suggest anyone reading this right now to hop on over to and read this chapter there. A link to this story on can be found in my author bio. Thanks for listening.

A/n 12/17/04. Edited those pesky little grammatical errors and put in the line breaks. Sorry, not actually an update... 

A/n. For those of you who didn't like the angst of the prologue, but still decided to read this chapter anyway, thank you! This chapter is much much shorter and easier on the angst. For those of you who _liked _the angst, sorry (and thank you!)! There isn't any sob-in-someone's-shirtfront angst this chapter but there will be in later chapters.

Thanks to Emeralddragon and Rhoda for beta-reading!

Disclaimer Remark: Inuyasha & Co do not belong to me but to Rumiko Takahashi. This story was inspired upon reading the fanfic "Get a Life!" written by SnowShadowUser. This means there are some small details that are similar, but please note that the plotlines between this and that story are completely different.

By the way, I'm only saying that particular disclaimer here. If you are in need of reading a disclaimer in future chapters, please come here.

_

* * *

Chapter One: Convocation_

_Four Years Later_

_Kagome_

In perky Cantonese, a correspondent of the Hong Kong equivalent of Entertainment Tonight announced, "_And now, let's look at what the Higurashi's wore to the TVB music awards…_"

At the sound of my family name, I paused in my search of the perfect TV. I looked away from the price tag and watched the screen.

"_Here, we have Higurashi Miroku, age twenty-two, in a stylishly cut, all black suit with the purple cloth of monks over the suit…"_

The speaker paused in reflection.

"_Very odd choice of accessory, isn't it? Yet still a very fashionable choice! The purple does give a sort of spontaneous charm to this outfit…_"

Spontaneous charm? Yeah, that was one possibility. In truth, Miroku just thought it looked cool and randomly decided to show up on the red carpet with it tied around his suit. You can do things like that at Hong Kong music award ceremonies.

"Kagome-san? Did you find something suitable?"

"This might do," I replied to Houjou, tapping the screen thoughtfully. "Could you be quiet for a moment? I want to watch this."

"Of course, Kagome-san."

"_Higurashi Kagome, age sixteen, in a very hip, sleeveless dress made of assorting denim and variously patches of other materials…_"

"Nevermind," I sighed.

I looked uncomfortably to the side as an image of me in that dress appeared on the numerous TVs in the shop.

Whoever tailored the dress had gone into a denim frenzy. The dress was primarily made of dark blue denim, but there were also many other dark blue materials of silk and satin stitched alongside. It resulted in a dress that was slim at the top but flowed at the skirt in a swirl of many different blue hues.

It was a nice dress but it wasn't really that spectacular, in my opinion at least. It hugged my torso a tad too much for my liking.

Several other customers watching this broadcast glanced back and forth from me on TV to me nervously trying to ignore myself on TV.

"_Ms. Higurashi certainly has an eccentric style of fashion, doesn't she?_"

"_Oh yes. Look at her skirts! Such an original way to…_" the other correspondent began.

I wrinkled my nose at their comments. My personal fashion sense had nothing to do with the dress. One of Miroku's personal dressers had selected it for me and I was more or less forced to wear it. The dress was not the most comfortable thing to wear either.

Houjou glanced at the TV and frowned, but he was frowning over the price of the TV I had chosen.

"This is overpriced," he commented. "Kagome-san, I think _this_ television over here would be more suitable…"

Not that pricing is a problem, I thought to myself in amusement. What with the recent record sales, Miroku was not exactly lacking in money these days.

The night before, our now deceased TV had undergone a terrible accident. It was an accident so horrendous that I'm still not exactly sure what happened to it. In fact, I wasn't even in the room when it happened. All I know is that Miroku had something to do with it, but he had seemed to acquire a convenient amnesia when I asked him what happened. In any case, the result was a hideously dented, scratched, and slightly smoking TV. So here I was, shopping for the successor.

"What about this one, Houjou-sensei?" I asked, tapping my preference.

Houjou peered at the price sticker and than at the TV itself. He nodded his approval.

I trusted Houjou's opinion. How could I not? He's a genius after all, even more of a genius than Sango, my former tutor, now Miroku's assistant manager.

When Sango was still my tutor-babysitter, she began to dabble in Miroku's career. Just little bits of nagging here and there. When I helped him memorize lyrics or scripts, Sango would point out suggestions, like what should be reworded, or what line would be more suitable. Once, when Miroku took the two of us to a set during filming, she verbally disagreed with the director's leadership and actually pointed out more appropriate changes in direction. Often, she would go head to head with Miroku's manager, arguing about the possible acting jobs he presented to Miroku, his choice in favoring reporters, Miroku's publicity…

"Sir, we would like to purchase this television," Houjou stated in perfect Cantonese to the employee at his elbow.

"Yes, sir. But would you be interested in this new deal? If you purchase this TV along with _this_ DVD player and this cable system, we will give you twenty percent off!"

"Oh, really? What about--" Houjou asked curiously.

"_No_ Houjou. We only need a TV," I interrupted.

"But it seems like a good deal—"

"We would just like to buy this TV, _only_," I told the employee, emphasizing the _only_. At my direct stare, he decided not to offer any more deals to us.

Miroku at first took in Sango's comments with amusement but polite disregard, but gradually he began to seriously consider them when he realized that the majority of Sango's points were actually quite good. But even Miroku's patience began to stretch thin after months of his manager and Sango's bickering.

His manager of course disregarded Sango's attempts completely and always explained his disregard by pointing out that Sango was a mere tutor and had no right to step out of matters beyond my education. Naturally, this only fueled Sango's arguments and efforts.

Miroku became so fed up with their feuding that he promoted Sango to his assistant manager, thus putting Sango in a position that _required_ her to argue with his manager.

I do not know how he did it but somehow Miroku managed to hire someone who challenged even Sango's genius in her vacancy. Houjou was barely eighteen at the time but he was already a college graduate. In fact, he had been a college graduate since he was fifteen. According to him, he had spent the three years in between traveling around the world, taking in the sights and learning the languages. He spke Japanese, Korean, English, French, and a variety of Chinese dialects fluently. Why he settled with a mere tutoring job is a mystery (then again I know that Miroku pays Houjou a salary that probably has at least five digits. He would not tell me the exact number though).

Actually the language fluency is not wholly impressive. The only language on that list that Miroku and Sango can not speak as well was French. Then again Miroku and Sango are also geniuses in their right.

(Why am I surrounded by geniuses?)

Houjou was an excellent tutor, always patient, never sharp, never rushing. He had his own apartment in Hong Kong so he did not occupy our extra bedroom. Sango still lived with Miroko and me, she had settled so comfortably into my life that I could not bear it if she left.

Sango had served the double job as tutor and babysitter to me. I was fourteen at the time she was promoted and didn't require a babysitter anymore but Houjou still served a double job as well. He's my bodyguard.

The bodyguard part is only implied actually. It seemed that when I entered my teens, people began to take an interest in me and did so in some very threatening ways. Houjou just always seemed to be there at the right place and time and accidentally did the right thing to make them go away. It's actually very amusing to watch. For example if I were accosted outside our apartment, Houjou's foot would in all likelihood appear at of no where into the hip of the accoster, sending him or her reeling away from me. Again, in all likelihood, Houjou would claim that it was a complete accident, but the he or she would probably feel an unexpected painful sensation and run away. Houjou would be left, one hand raised, frowning in confusion as to why he was suddenly a feared person.

But at the same time, having Houjou in constant company is like… how do I put this… It was a little suffocating and intensely boring, like being in perpetual company with a sloth. Spontaneity was virtually nonexistent if Houjou were put in charge, it's something I have to create for myself. Houjou was so painstakingly concerned for my health that sometimes I wanted to vomit just to make him worry. Houjou was unnoticeably attentive to my security but he guarded me so well that I often deliberately bolted out into danger just to see if he could save me this time.

In fact…

As Houjou approached the cash register to pay for our new TV, I looked around at the exit. My instincts told me that this was the perfect opportunity to test my bodyguard once again.

While Houjou occupied himself with looking for the right credit card and mildly refusing offered bargain sales, I casually wandered out the door. I quickly walked into the center of the moving parade of sidewalk pedestrians and flowed with the bustling current of people. The skyscrapers of Hong Kong loomed over my head as I passed them. I quickly stepped past block after block of assorted shops and alleys and bazaars and politely nodded and smiled to various shopkeepers I was acquainted with.

Fifteen minutes away from the television shop and I decided that here was a good place to relax for a moment. I stopped by a small comic book shop I was familiar with and was about to duck in when someone grabbed by arm.

"Hey… you're that celebrity's sister…" warbled a male Cantonese voice.

I turned to look at him, unsuccessfully trying to shrug my arm out of his grasp.

There were two ruddy looking guys, both appearing to be in their older teens. They stared at me openly, not even bothering to close their mouths.

"Hello," I coldly said to them. "Please let go of my arm."

They ignored my request and continued to stare.

"Wah, what's a celebrity like you doing in this shit hole?" asked the guy who seemed to have a fixation with my arm.

"You don't live here do you?" the other guy asked.

I tried not to stare at him. There was a skull tattooed on his head, an attempt to impersonate the Triads no doubt. The fact that it was smack in the middle of his forehead demeaned this impersonation though. "No, I don't," I answered cautiously, deliberately letting my voice take on an annoyed tone. "Now if you please, let go of my arm."

"What? You're leaving already?" exclaimed Arm-boy.

"We've never met a celebrity before," added Skull-boy.

"I'm not a celebrity," I snapped irritably. Where did all the crowds go? Why was not anyone stopping them?

"But you're brother Miroku is," said Skull-boy. "Hey, 'Miroku.' That's not Chinese is it?"

I felt like screaming at this statement. "Let go!" I started to struggle. This was the fifth time this week that I had encountered an individual who approached me in a rather obnoxious way.

Is this what my life has come down to, I wondered as I tried to inconspicuously and politely yank myself away, restraining myself from killing my brother's fans? That is, if indeed these two were his fans (they had forgotten his name after all). In that case, my life has come down to fending off random people on the street who pester me for no obvious reason.

"We just met! Why don't you come down to our place, hm?" Arm-boy began to wag his eyebrows grotesquely.

"Yeah, maybe we can… hm… you know…" Skull-boy winked lecherously. "We're _very_ good guys…"

If I had a gun in my hand at this moment, I would shoot myself. Out of the five encounters, this is the third time the individual expressed a need for me to do something that he or she would describe as "you know…"

"I'm sorry, I'm waiting for someone right now," I told them, attempting to keep my demeanor calm. It would not do if am image of the manifestation of my longing to whop the guys on the head suddenly appeared in the tabloids the next day. I had to go into hiding the last time that happened.

"Waiting for someone?" Arm-boy began to slyly inch his other hand up my arm.

I tried to fight my gag reflex, unfortunately with success.

"What, like a boyfriend?" Skull-boy grunted.

"I think we're much better company than him," declared Arm-boy.

"Don't worry, we're nice guys," Skull-boy reassured.

Skull-boy moved a hand toward me. I jerked opened my mouth to scream when I felt a rush of air and saw the two crashing down to the cement sidewalk. There was a thump, followed by two groans of pain.

I looked over my shoulder and saw Houjou, innocently blinking at the huge TV box on the ground next to the fallen guys. Evidently, it had somehow hit Arm- and Skull-boy's heads and knocked them to the ground. Judging from the dazed expressions on their faces and how they rubbed their heads, the box was very heavy.

"Oh, dear, look how I clumsy I was," Houjou remarked, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "I just tripped and accidentally dropped the box…"

Arm- and Skull-boy limped heavily to their feet, clutching their heads and moaning in pain. They looked up, mouths opening angrily to shout. Then they saw Houjou, who stood with his back to the sun, hiding his face in shadow.

Arm-boy began to stutter. "He… Hey man…"

Houjou looked puzzled and apologetic. "I'm _very_ sorry. You're not in pain are you?" he inquired in concern.

He took a step toward them, left hand reaching out toward them. He frowned in puzzlement when the two guys frantically jerked back at his approaching hand.

"Sor…sorry… sir…miss…" Skull-boy added hastily with a nervous nod to me. "Erm…"

Then as if on signal, they both turned around and dashed away, blending into the crowd that I wished had appeared earlier.

Houjou scratched his head as we watched their retreating backs. "Oh dear. I hoped the box didn't hit their heads too hard." His eyebrows pinched together in thought. "Why were they apologizing, do you think? _I_ was the one who caused their pain."

I scrutinized his face closely. There was pure puzzlement and (at the moment rather unnecessary) apology on his face. No hints of annoyance at their harassing his charge, no smugness at receiving an apology.

Could it be that the action that had just prevented me from breaking the two guys' eardrums was purely an accident?

"Maybe the TV was heavier than we thought?" I suggested slowly.

Houjou considered this. "Guess you're right," he responded cheerfully.

At times like this, I had to mentally pinch myself to see if my award-winning genius tutor was actually this thickheaded.

"So did you get the book in time?" Houjou asked.

I blinked at him. "What?"

"That new book that just came out. You know? The one you left so suddenly to get?" he explained. At my dumb silence, he added, "You were worried that it would get sold out so you left the TV shop early… so, did you manage to get a copy?"

I stared at him. Houjou looked innocently back at me.

Well, if that was what he thought, I certainly would not argue with him.

"Nope," I answered after a moment. "All sold out."

Houjou nodded sympathetically. "That's too bad then. I'll call the driver to pick us up then. You have to take a math test when we get back."

I didn't respond.

* * *

"Is that our new TV?" was Sango's greeting as we walked into the flat, dragging a somewhat dented cardboard box behind us. 

"Yes it is, Eiri-san," Houjou replied. "Where should I put this?"

"Just bring it over here in the living room. We might as well set it up," Sango ordered, rising up from her seat at the couch to help set up the TV in its predecessor's place.

"Where's Miroku?" I asked as I tore open the cardboard box.

"Been out with Lei for a few hours," Sango answered, pausing to take a moment to hiss at the name of Miroku's manager. "There's this magazine that Lei's been bugging Miroku to pose for and Miroku let him drag him out today just to make him shut up. I didn't agree with Lei," she added, reminding us of her extreme dislike of Lei. "But of course, I'm just the assistant manager so what do I know?" She reinforced this injustice with a fierce pull and ripped off the plastic wrapping of the TV.

"I'm sure Lei knows what he's doing," Houjou remarked optimistically, lifting the TV out of the box.

Sango and I simultaneously rolled our eyes.

By the time Miroku came back, the TV was properly set up and already being monopolized. Houjou had gone home with a stack of tests to grade and promises of a new Chinese poem for me to analyze at the next lesson because he knew I _loved_ analyzing poetry.

"Did you end up posing for that magazine?" Sango asked as Miroku plopped down beside me onto a couch. She sat on the cushion next to us, an open script in her lap.

"Almost," Miroku answered. "I actually think I would have enjoyed modeling for that particular magazine."

"Would have?"

Miroku smiled and shrugged. "That magazine turned out to be a porno for ladies. Much as I enjoy having my body admired, a porno shoot seemed a little out of line. I thought Lei knew that but…" He shrugged.

"Hmpf," Sango grunted, with a little bit of smugness. "Always knew that Lei was a perverted old fart."

"He brought you to a _porno_ shoot?" I stated in shock.

"Wasn't the first time either," Miroku remarked, stretching his arms.

"It _wasn't_?" Sango said in shock. "How come I didn't know that?"

"He didn't tell you I guess. I didn't want to shock you so I didn't either. I suppose I should have asked a little more about this magazine, but I thought that Lei would learn after the first few times, but apparently not. So I fired him."

"Oh really—" Sango began and then cut herself off as the weight of Miroku's last sentence fell down on her. Her hand had frozen in the act of turning a page, delicately hovering in the air.

Both Sango and I turned to stare at Miroku, who was laughing at something on the TV.

"You fired Lei?" Sango stated hesitantly.

"Mm-hm," Miroku grunted.

A brief silence.

"So… if he's not your manager anymore… what does that make… _me_?" Sango asked apprehensively.

Miroku's head notched to the side, as if just realizing this new perspective for the first time. He looked up at the ceiling in thought.

"I guess you're promoted from assistant manager to just plain manager," Miroku proclaimed casually.

There was an unreadable look on Sango's face. Her hand still hovered in the air.

"Oh. Okay then," she said, turning the page.

I shook my head at the lack of seriousness in this situation. I supposed that Sango would celebrate a pay raise and the prospect of never seeing Lei again later in her own time.

"Oh, by the way, Kagome, we're going out to dinner tonight," Miroku told me.

"What's the occasion?" I asked curiously.

Miroku pointed at the TV. "Him."

I looked up but not quickly enough to catch "him." Whomever Miroku was indicating had already flashed by for I only saw a female correspondent on the screen. But I did catch a name.

I repeated the name, frowning in puzzlement. "Gao Inuyasha? What does he have to do with dinner?"

Inuyasha Gao was a pop star who was currently rising high and higher along the charts. The eighteen-year-old had only entered into the music industry about a year ago and his debut record album had already gone triple platinum. He was a classic and well-beloved success story and his popularity just kept going and going.

I have never really understood what, besides his supposed good looks, gave him so much appeal to the public, at least music-wise. I have never seen him perform live, but I have listened to a few of his singles during the random times I had turned on the radio. From what I've heard from my own ears, he can sing in tune (but thanks to modern technology, this isn't a huge talent in the music industry anymore). Judging from his singles, Inuyasha's voice itself seemed to have an actual singing ability, meaning it probably would not be painful to listen to live. But I never heard anything particularly special about him. He seemed to be just like all the other pop stars I'd encountered with Miroku, so generic and predictable.

It baffled me that he would have anything to do with Miroku. Miroku was on a completely different level of fame and talent.

Miroku seemed to sense the disbelief in my voice. He raised an eyebrow at me.

I resented that. "I'm just asking," I said defensibly.

Miroku's eyebrow remained arched. "Gao-san and I will be releasing new albums during the same month. You know what that means."

Oh yes I did. An album release called for an upheaval in advertising and a race of publicity and promotion, requiring a huge amount of time and effort along with a huge promotion tour. The promotion tour technically was not required, but it was needed as a safety cushion for publicity. The whole promotion process by itself was extremely exhausting, but because of the competition and rivalry of releasing albums of other artists, an attitude of anxiety and stress was added to the process.

Inuyasha would be undergoing this hassling process as well. But I still did not see what this had to do with Miroku and said so.

"We're taking a new approach to promotion," Sango explained from the other couch. She thumbed over a page. "Instead of upping publicity and hoping for the best, we've decided to make a joint-effort with Inuyasha and his agents."

"Our albums will be promoted side by side, together," Miroku said. "We will travel along the same promotion tour and perform joint-concerts together to promote both of our albums. The whole hoopla, we'll be in it together. It will be as if we had formed a duet group."

"And when the albums are released, they'll be sold together for a reduced price, and the companies will split the profits," Sango concluded.

Both of my eyebrows floated somewhere in the middle of my forehead and my mouth gaped open slightly. It was smart idea, teaming up with Inuyasha for publicity.

"But it's not official yet," Sango added. "We're still in the negotiating phase. We don't know if Miroku and Inuyasha would work well together."

"You haven't even met Inuyasha yet," I pointed out. This was true.

Miroku nodded. "So tonight, we're going to meet up and talk a little about it, just some chit chat for the moment."

"I see." There was still something I didn't understand though. "But why do I have to go too?" I asked suspiciously. "What do I have to do with promotion?"

"Nothing much," Miroku answered simply. "We merely want your opinion on Inuyasha. Also—" Miroku looked me fully in the face here, emphasizing my attention, indicating to me that he was now going to be brutally honest "—If indeed we do go through with the plan, Inuyasha's going to be in our company quite often."

Meaning, I thought to myself, I would have to put up with Inuyasha's presence on a regular basis whether I enjoyed it or not.

"Inuyasha is not known to have the best personality," Miroku continued. "And we really want this partnership to succeed, so I'll need your cooperation as well."

The conversation was beginning to unnerve me.

"So you want me to hang out with Inuyasha in order to keep his spirits up?" I asked.

"Not necessarily," Miroku confirmed. "I just want you to…get along with him. Maintain a friendly relationship. This is because the way the plans are going, he'll probably be with us all the time. So when I meet him tonight, I want you to meet him with me."

It was later while we were preparing to leave for the restaurant that it all clicked in my head. There was something about the potential teaming with my brother and Inuyasha that bugged me, and Miroku expected this, so he was dragging me along to show that there was nothing to be bothered about.

Miroku knew that Inuyasha did not live up to my personal expectations for a musical artist, and he was also well aware that I would not think Inuyasha worthy of teaming up with him.

Miroku has been in the music industry for almost seven years as opposed to Inuyasha's one year. Within this time span, he has released four record albums, as opposed to Inuyasha's one. My brother has also broken into the markets outside Japan and met with enormous success in China and Taiwan. (In fact, Miroku's popularity was even greater in the Chinese markets than the Japanese, which was why we lived in Hong Kong most of the time.) He even has a small following in the Western world (although this is actually due to a few songs he made for a few popular animes). Inuyasha on the other hand, had only just gotten into the Chinese market, and hardly anywhere else outside China and Taiwan.

If they did team up, Miroku would benefit nothing from Inuyasha. Inuyasha, on the other hand, would gain too much from Miroku.

Not fair, not fair at all. The thought of some generic, prissy, pop star excuse for a musician leeching off my brother infuriated me. The thought that Miroku was actually considering this plan baffled me.

Miroku of course, did think about these things once in a while but he did not care very much about it. He let Sango and his former manager Lei worry about it instead.

He knew, of course, that I would not welcome Inuyasha in these circumstances. But being Miroku, instead of keeping me as far away from Inuyasha as he could as others might have done, he chose instead to make me face Inuyasha and rethink my opinions on our meeting. At least that's what I think his motives are…

My brother. I love him to bits but he can be such a sneaky asshole.

I checked my appearance in the mirror. We were going to a very expensive and fancy restaurant that required formal dress at all times. I usually avoided wearing make up but the gravity of the situation earned a touch of lip-gloss and mascara on my face. The dress I chose was stylish but accidentally so and designed to be pleasant to wear. I had a feeling that I would be extremely uncomfortable during this dinner and wanted to be in as much ease as possible.

Finally, I knelt to knees and faced a photograph of my parents and late younger brother Souta.

"Souta, Papa, Mama," I called, "Please give me patience tonight. I don't know what to expect and I think I need all the help I can get. The fact that Miroku and Sango are so serious about this Gao Inuyasha and want me to meet him shows that this is something big. They didn't say it but I get the feeling that they want my approval about this guy. I don't really understand why, but then again this whole music business is over my head. Please keep me from making a fool of myself, because I think that's what Miroku is afraid of."

I stopped in thought.

"In that case, he should never have considered bringing me to this dinner," I added. "You know how he is."

I bobbed my head down in amen.

"I love you all and I miss you so much. I have to go now though. Wish me luck."

I stood. Time to go.

* * *

I couldn't believe it. 

The bastard was late.

The nerve!

Granted, we were fives minutes late to the rendezvous, but that was completely due to the horrific state of Hong Kong traffic. In fact, considering the amount of traffic that goes through the streets of Hong Kong, five minutes late was actually a trifle early. Evidently, it was too early.

However, I was quick to dismiss this fact as Miroku, Sango, and I sat at our table. We had been sitting here for the last hour for his delayed presence. The two empty seats, one for Inuyasha and the other for his manager, Myouga, seemed to inanimately smirk at me.

I glared at the offending chairs sullenly. Their soon-to-be occupiers were plummeting lower and lower in my opinion. If Miroku really wanted my approval of them so desperately it was too bad for him, I was growing more and more annoyed by the second.

It was pricking at my nerves. Inuyasha had no right whatsoever to be so damn late. Did he know Miroku's reputation in the music industry? Did he realize that Miroku deserved all utmost respect? Inuyasha should be grateful that Miroku even agreed to consider the potential partnership and cooperation, otherwise Miroku would have kicked dust into his eyes when the record sales came around, no matter how popular Inuyasha was now. Goddamn, Miroku has lasted for nearly seven years and he was still on the top of business. This was disgraceful.

There was a bottle of wine for the adults and a bottle of sparkling apple cider on the circular turntable for the underage. There was small bowl of peanuts to nibble, as courtesy demanded we wait before ordering food to eat. Out of sheer boredom, I had started pouring myself glass after glass of cider since we had arrived. Now I could feel the sugary goodness start to bubble inside. The bottle of cider was almost empty.

This restaurant was one of those fancy, luxury-driven places that catered to Chinese people who had turned their back on traditional Asian values and embraced the Western culture as their own. It was a place that the higher and richer Hong Kong natives would take their foreign guests to impress and flaunt, displaying their Western qualities. We were surrounded by swarms of brown, red, and blonde-haired Caucasian wannabes dressed in the latest fashions of the West. The patrons were so high class that only the easily impressionable would bat an eye at the entrance of a celebrity, the rest merely continued with their conversation. Around our table were buzzing conversations on politics and stock markets and all the sorts of things the modern man had to worry about it. These were the people who had one foot in Europe and the other just inching over the peaks of the Ural Mountains. They thought they knew where power laid and had rushed to join it.

This restaurant choice made me wonder a little. The dinner meeting had been arranged on Inuyasha's side, Miroku had nothing to do with location decision. What did this indicate about Inuyasha or his manager rather? Why did he choose such a Western-driven place?

We three were a little set apart and not just because of our Japanese ethnicity (we were not the only Japanese in the restaurant anyway). However, we were part of the few people in the room who had not had our hair dyed some random color (Miroku had never shown interest in that particular fad). We conducted our conversations boldly and confidently entirely in Japanese, rather than in mostly English with small spurts of Cantonese or Mandarin here and there as tables around us were doing. Our dress was western enough though: Miroku in black dinner jacket and pants with an open collar purple shirt underneath, Sango in a crisp, classy and feminine black and magenta suit, and I in my comfort dress. We were appeared to be only at the foot of the Ural, and were graciously ignored for it.

I wondered if Inuyasha knew how to speak English. I knew that knowledge of a few English phrases was required as a pop star (phrases like "baby!" and "Love you!") but, if we were in a place like this, was that an indication that Inuyasha possessed a fluency in English? Would he insist on conducting all conversation in English?

I hoped not. Miroku and Sango were perfectly comfortable with English and would be none too fazed if he did. Houjou had started tutoring me in English when he first started working with us and by this time I spoke English more or less half fluently and could understand the general conversation around me. But I had not gone beyond the point that I became confident in my English speaking, and my uneasiness clearly showed whenever I spoke. It wasn't a weakness I really wanted to display in front of Miroku's rival.

"He's still late," I snapped to the air in front of me for the umpteenth time. What happened to the luck I prayed for? Was Mama punishing me for something I did? What did I _do_?

Miroku and Sango both paused in their conversation at my comment and looked at me, silently telling me to stop stating the obvious because it was not helping. Yep, it was obvious who the immature teenager was at this table.

I took a sip of my umpteenth glass of cider in a huff. Through the speakers on the ceiling, I could hear the beats of Western music, as if it were declaring to the general public that they knew about the West, they knew all the fads, here's the music to prove it! At the moment an old Beatles song twinkled overhead.

_(and the hall weeps in the absence of the lyrics)  
_

I smirked into my glass as the lyrics reached my ears. In my boredom my thoughts drifted to the delayed entrance of Mr. Inuyasha goh-goh. In my mind, I watched as he came grooving into the room with jelly liquid eyes from too many shots of alcoholic beverages, old flat top indeed.

_(and the lyrics wept with them, even though they were absent)_

Heh, strangely I did not recall a clear picture of Inuyasha's face. Others would have thought that I'd be up to date with all the rivals in my brother's line of work, but as it was, I had never seen so much as a picture of Inuyasha. I'd bet he did indeed have hair long enough to sit on.

_(and then FFN took the lyrics and crushed them)  
_

I mouthed along with the lyrics. "'_(sorry, you won't know what Kagome sang because no. Lyrics. Are. Allowed.)_,'" I silently sang, wagging my shoulders a little to the beat. Nobody paid attention to me of course. " '_(Lalala I'm not singing copyrighted lyrics!)_'" Yes, free me from this incessant state of boredom. "'_(Listen to my wondrous voice as I sing nonexistent lyrics!)_'" Inuyasha goh-goh, please come here before I explode with impatience.

_(And the lyrics cried out in pain as FFN spat in the dust that formerly made up their bodies)  
_

There was a lovely picture forming in my head of a guy with wild long hair swaggering into the dining hall with squinty, runny eyes and wafts of red, toxic fumes omitting from his skin, and long lanky arms used for forcing a girl onto his sweltering lap, his knees dragging in his heavy feet behind him, lips forming the words, "_'Come together, right now, over me,'_" and then snatching up the nearest girl into those lanky arms of his and pulling her underneath the table.

Inuyasha Gao… Gao Inuyasha… Inuyasha… what was with his name anyway? It's written in kanji characters and in Cantonese, it _should_ have been pronounced as "Hune Yeh Chah," but _no,_ Mr. Inuyasha _goh-goh_ had to be _unique_ and use the Japanese pronunciation instead. Why did he do that? Did he just think his name was easier to remember if it was not Chinese? As native Japanese, I felt it only made him poseur rather than chic. Gao certainly was a Chinese surname. It was a very unique surname indeed. The specific character of his name meant "everlasting." The sound "gao," however, could also mean "dog," "nine," or "enough" when pronounced the right way. A foreigner would probably pronounce it in the way that translated as "dog."

_(Come 'round kids and let's sing with no lyrics!)  
_

I added to my mental image a splatter of muddy water on his face, drying it to a crusty, faded brown, like camouflage. As he pulled the girl underneath the table, he glanced back and held up three fingers at me. And then he disappeared into the murky depths of the table.

Inuyasha… dog-demon… Gao… dog… Gao Inuyasha… dog dog-demon? Everlasting dog-demon?

I giggled to myself. What a silly name!

Then I hiccupped. The cider was increasing my sugar levels and I could feel myself becoming more and more energetic.

_(Let us hum instead!)  
_

I wondered why I had to imagine Inuyasha harassing a girl. That was not something I liked to see.

_(Or we can whistle!)  
_

I twitched uncomfortably as I absently swirled the cider around in my wineglass. All of a sudden, the moving liquid made me shiver. The cider had taken its toll on me. I needed a leak.

"Inuyasha and Myouga probably won't be here for the next few minutes right?" I remarked thoughtfully to Sango. "I'll be at the restroom then."

Sango nodded and I stood up.

_(Better yet, let's howl like coyotes at the moon!)  
_

I delicately scooted my chair back stepped out from the table. Shaking out my dress skirt, I straightened myself and walked out toward restrooms. I had gotten only a few yards away from our table when my nose came into rough contact with the warm, smooth skin of a man's naked chest.

The rest of my body collided in a less poetic manner. I squeaked in surprise as I lost my balance (I was wearing very high heels) and stumbled, arms flailing against the offender, who grunted at my clumsiness.

_(Or we can hiss! )  
_

Cool hands gripped my forearms, steadying me back onto my feet. When they did not let go, I took a step back, taking the hands with me. I opened my mouth to apologize and thank him for his assistance and but shut it again when I looked up into bright, hard eyes of an opaque gold. The brows above the eyes were pinched together in an unfathomable expression.

Locks of white hair slid down the front of his face, draping across his eyes, which peered out between the strands.

_(We can do anything we want, so long as there are no lyrics!)  
_

When I heard the scrape of Miroku's chair upon the carpet and Miroku's calm, receiving voice saying, "Gao Inuyasha, it is a pleasure to finally meet you," despite my ignorant expectations and doubts before, somehow, I was not shocked or surprised at the identity of the man before me.

His eyes stared strongly at mine for a brief moment before loosening his grip on my arms, but not quite letting go. I took another step back, his hands slipping down my bare arms. I could feel my cheeks tingeing with red as I took in his unbuttoned and open red silk, Chinese style jacket with emperor's gold embroidery. His matching silk pants moved slightly as he relaxed, sliding beneath his navel. His lean, taut chest muscles were naked underneath the jacket with only a beaded, fanged necklace adorning his neck and spilling between his two, exposed nipples. Strands of white hair trickled about his person like an aura.

There was a moment of pause, an expanding silence. He pulled his hands completely away from me and moved his gaze away from mine to respond to my brother's greeting.

"Higurashi," Inuyasha coolly remarked in a strong, even voice, "the pleasure is all mine."

* * *

Song Credit: "Come Together" - The Beatles _(Not that it matters, since no lyrics are allowed)_  



	4. Chapter 2: Impressions

A/n Right, about the wait… sorry about that. What was it, four months? Eep. But hey, I somehow managed to get it out somehow… School sucks kids.

_

* * *

Chapter Two: Impressions_

_Kagome_

The shock of the nature of our meeting still had not loosened its hold on me, leaving me silent and tongue-tied, face blank and numb. Maybe I should I have smiled and graciously welcomed Inuyasha. Maybe I should have offered my hand to him to shake. Anything as a gesture of kindness would have done. But I couldn't move. I felt too numb to react, not even to apologize for knocking into him.

All the resentment and wonder I had felt about him during the last several hours still rested in my mind, but now confusion joined their ranks. _This _was the guy who might possibly attempt to mooch off my brother's fame, and that possibility alone had alienated me and prompted my instant scorn. But concentrating on my bitterness when he was right in front of me came less easily, especially when we were mere feet apart. My agonizing came easier when I was still ignorant of him; having Inuyasha _there_ certainly did not confirm any of my suspicions. Suddenly I began to doubt myself. Maybe my resentment was unwarranted; maybe I was wrong for thinking him a bad person.

I remained quiet and still during my ponderings as the salutations continued around me. Apparently, Miroku had come around the table, for his hand crossed my line of vision and Inuyasha accepted it with a firm grip.

"This is my manager, Eiri Sango," my brother introduced, indicating towards Sango, who stood up and came around as well.

Inuyasha nodded curtly and jerked his head toward a short, bald man in a miniscule black suit, who came out from behind him. This man briskly held out his hand to Sango.

"Myouga, Inuyasha's manager," he said as Sango shook his hand.

"It's nice to meet you at last," Sango returned politely.

"And this is my younger sister, Kagome," Miroku concluded, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I started slightly as Inuyasha's gaze returned again to me, pinning me once again with that same intense gaze as before.

"Um…" I licked my lips nervously and stretched my mouth into a timid smile. "Er… hi…" My hands, tucked behind my back, shook unsteadily. I felt my cheeks turning red and, ashamed of myself, blushed more because of it.

But Inuyasha merely blinked and nodded to me. Evidently, only Miroku warranted a vocal response and a handshake. His gaze swiveled off me to the side and seemed to sniff.

I followed his line of view and watched as the restaurant patrons sitting in the next table over looked abruptly away. Here, I began to hear suspicious murmurs and feel the eyebrows rising around us.

Stark and boldly Chinese, Inuyasha's red clothes clashed with the pastel colors of the carpet and tablecloth, which proudly boasted of being imported from some small European state. The primitive, fanged necklace about his neck stood out from the flashes of diamonds and jewels, like a ferocious, mangy beast among delicately primped puppies. His revealing chest reeked in primitivism, proudly displaying his wild half-nakedness. He glowed in his savagery, seeming to breathe in barbarianism. His boldness was his beauty.

I admit, I admired his silent audacity, and subconsciously I feebly approved of his outright Asian qualities. But now I was even more confused. Why would he come to such a Western-driven place dressed like this? I pondered this and found no answer as we returned to our seats.

But by the time we returned to the table and settled into our seats, I realized that the moment I had to apologize to Inuyasha for the collision had passed. _Shit_. It was too late now. Damn it, not a good start at all…

As the evening commenced with the usual pleasantries and idle conversations, I twitched uncomfortably. My initial embarrassment lingered for a few more minutes and I stayed silent, but it rapidly tapered off as the fact that I really, painfully, desperately, _achingly_ needed to pee came back to my attention.

My eyes flickered sullenly to the near empty cider bottle and glared.

I couldn't go to the bathroom, not now that they had arrived. I looked stupid enough when I scuttled back to my chair, but if I got up again? It was rude to leave just when they arrived.

If this hadn't involved Miroku's career, I wouldn't have cared about all that shit about rudeness. I would have acted however I felt without worrying if I offended someone or not. But at the moment, I clearly _did _have to care, _required_ to. I hated it, detested the idea of flippant protocol dictating my behavior, all for the sake of some flaky _pop star_. And I began to feel resentment.

Apparently, the menu had already been determined as barely five minutes passed and a waiter came with the first course.

Despite the Western décor, this restaurant served surprisingly traditional and authentic Chinese cuisine. This did not help my state of pain.

"Shark fin soup," the waiter announced, placing the steaming, boiling, _frothing_ bowl on the turntable.

I bit my lip to keep myself from whimpering. Then I bit the side of my cheek as the waiter began to ladle the soup into bowls, the liquid delicately sloshing against the porcelain with little splashing sounds. I thought I would die when he placed a bowl in front of me with its crystal clear, bubbling contents with glistening vegetables and translucent shark fins.

While my cheek began to bleed inside my mouth, I glanced to my right at Sango, who serenely sipped her soup, the perfect picture of a proper businesswoman. I looked to my left at Miroku, who was blowing it slightly, and then past him at Inuyasha, who didn't bother using the spoon and simply gulped the bowl down whole. Beside him, on Sango's left, Myouga regarded a shark fin suspiciously.

As there was no polite way to avoid the soup, I allowed myself to sigh and lifted a spoonful to my lips and gingerly licked the soup which, almost tauntingly, scalded my tongue.

By the time the next dish had arrived, a selection of meats, the ice had been broken and the adults moved on to business matters for discussion. Myouga, Sango, and Miroku began an active debate on something to do with trends. Inuyasha merely nibbled on the meat with a bored expression on his face.

I chewed on a slice of barbequed pork, trying to keep my lower body as still as possible. Oh _God_ I could feel my bladder swell with every passing moment…

"Inuyasha," Miroku remarked when steamed fish arrived, turning to his left companion. "What do _you _think? Is it the idol who projects his image, or is it the fans who press the image onto the idol?"

I shook myself out of my stupor and stared with my brother at Inuyasha for an answer.

Inuyasha munched on a piece of squid, unruffled and unflustered. After a long moment, he slurped it with a soft smack of the lips.

"_I _think," Inuyasha languidly answered, a corner of his mouth touching up in a small sneer. "_I _think neither the idol nor the fans have _anything_--" he slowly drew out the word like the oozing of honey "-- to do with _image_ at all."

Miroku raised his eyebrows, eager for a debate. "Really? Please explain."

Inuyasha picked up his glass and placidly sipped his wine. The fact that he could drink and I couldn't did not escape my notice or resentment.

"All," he stated, "the image, the _concept _of the image, the ideas of the image, it all boils down to what the idol's _agency _deems satisfactory. They are, after all, the ones who make his fame possible. They are ones who sell his fame to the fans, so it's obvious that they have a hand in an idol's… _image_."

From anyone else's mouth, there would have been flying quotation marks around the word _image_.

I could feel my lips part in a ready counter to this statement, but a twitch of my hips brought back the near bursting of my bladder. I shoved a piece of fish into my mouth and mentally cursed our dining companions for their horrid timing. The worst part was that I _still _could not excuse myself to the restroom. Now that that Inuyasha and Myouga had settled, it might seem rude to leave the table at the moment. I'd have to wait until the moment when… when… it was better? Even that sounded pathetic in my head…

That's what I told myself anyway. The reason I didn't go relieve myself was because I felt embarrassed at my clumsiness and horrified at what Inuyasha probably thought of me. This made me nervous, and I could not muster the nerve to excuse myself if I meant that I had to say something out loud.

"So you think the idol can't choose how he wants to be presented to the public?" Miroku inquired.

"He can choose, but in the end, he doesn't get the final decision," Inuyasha drawled. "Any idiot can figure _that _out."

I coughed into my wineglass. What did _that_ mean? Was that an insult?

Miroku shrugged in response. "I trust my agency to make the right decisions, and I trust them to take my own ideas to heart."

Inuyasha snorted. "Yeah, that's what they _want _you to think," he chuckled.

I did not trust myself not to shatter the glass cup so I placed it back on to the table. What was Inuyasha's problem? Miroku had given him no reason to attack him. I looked to my brother for his witty retort and frowned in disappointment at his response.

"I suppose I've fallen into their trap haven't I?" Miroku remarked cheerfully.

I prevented myself from snapping at Miroku's meekness by taking another particularly large chunk of fish with a healthy amount of rice and stuffing it into my mouth. Did Miroku just _humor _Inuyasha? He had no need to! Miroku was the senior one here, not Inuyasha! He deserved some respect.

_Alright, calm down… _Perhaps it was a just a mistake, a slip of the tongue on Inuyasha's part. After all, Miroku _did _have a considerable amount of influence in the business. Inuyasha probably just felt flustered and felt that he had to make a stand…

But as the evening went on, it didn't seem to be a mistake. Several more instances of disrespect and rudeness directed from to Inuyasha's party to Miroku's occurred. At each time, Miroku or Sango merely responded neutrally and noncommittally, not even _trying_ to defend themselves.

My frustration from before their arrival returned. Why were Miroku and Sango humoring Inuyasha? It should be the other way around, and they knew it, but they groveled anyway. They let Inuyasha get away with his snide comments. They smiled pleasantly and politely pretended not to hear them. They were the ones who prompted the discussion, who made an effort to engage our companions in conversation.

_Why?_

At some point during the middle of dinner, Inuyasha's snide comments gradually came less and less until he was as silent and grim as me. I was so angry that my earlier admiration for his Asian ethnicity in a Western place had diminished. I noted his silence happily and took as many opportunities as possible to fix him with a hard stare.

Any shyness I felt in the beginning had, by this point, worn away. Frustration replaced shyness and I began to scold myself. I wondered why I was willing to risk seeming rude by ignoring him but unwilling to go to the bathroom, even though I desperately needed to. Why did I have to be so _polite _about it?

And what the _fuck _was with that touchy-feely thing of Inuyasha's? Okay, he caught me because I fell against him, yes, thank you very much. But he didn't let go, that was the key part, and it was only until Miroku spoke that he dropped his hands. Granted, yes, _I _fell on him first, but _still¸ _did he really have to _grab_ me? And then he stared at me so strongly, so _intently _I might say. It was practically _leering_.

Simply put, it was _creepy_.

But this wasn't the first case of creepiness I've encountered. In fact, Inuyasha's creepiness was mild in comparison to Miroku's fans.

I sighed and absently chewed on the fish.

_

* * *

Inuyasha _

_I fucking want to kill myself._

Right then, I really wanted to take my wineglass and chug down a bottle of pills with its contents. Boredom was not justification for suicide in most cases, but never underestimate the existence of exceptions. Unfortunately I only had half a glass left of wine and no pills on me.

I hated it when Naraku sent me to these "social visits" as he called it. Fraternizing with other wussy, pansy pop stars so that my _image_ and _reputation_ would be improved did not suit me. The fact that I, too, am considered a wussy, pansy popstar doesn't matter; the key word is _considered_. This little dinner was different because I might actually have to work with this Miroku Higurashi. Not because I _want_ to sing duets with him of course; I'm not so pathetic; it's about the money after all, that is all Naraku cares about these days. And I'm just a little pop star under his thumb to obey his every order because Naraku's _always _right.

But this was almost too much. I hadn't even _known _about this dinner. I was aware that Naraku was scheming to pair me with Higurashi, but I didn't know it was _tonight_. He didn't bother to tell me and I resented that. Half an hour past the rendezvous, I was at a fucking _club_ and Myouga only decided to enlighten me then. _No _time to prepare, _no _time to change out of my clubbing attire, and _no _time to get my mind resigned to another social visit. I was on my way to getting piss drunk and Myouga tells me we have to leave _now _and that I have to be _courteous_, and _presentable_ because Higurashi is _so famous_ and _so kind _to make time for humble little me… Oh yes, I was _so _looking forward to this dinner, yes fucking sir, no doubt about it, _not_.

Myouga had made an effort to emphasize the successes of Higurashi's record history, silently informing me of all the good that could come out of an alliance between us two. Four albums, all platinum within a month. Big fucking deal, was that record history supposed to scare me?

Myouga didn't seem to realize it, but I knew that the outcome of tonight's events didn't matter at all. It didn't matter if our voices did not harmonize together, or if we simply did not like each other. Whether or not Miroku approved of me, or vice versa, we were going to form a partnership anyway. That was how Naraku worked and it was shameful that my manager refused to see this.

This did give me certain liberties that I would never have had with any other celebrity. There was no need to be simpering polite. I could be as rude as I wanted. Considering the dark mood I came in with, the liberties were welcome and enjoyed.

But eventually the evening lulled me into a state of boredom and I stopped speaking all together. Myouga kept up the conversation so my silence didn't matter.

Besides, I wasn't the only one being rude. Miroku's sister, whatever her name was, sat there, twitching now and then, listening actively to the conversation but not joining in. Of course, she was on a different level of involvement; it was not required for her to talk, being only Miroku's sister.

I smirked humorlessly. It had been somewhat startling when she bumped into me. At first, I instinctively thought she was a fan and grabbed her arms to push her away. But then she stared up at me, innocent, surprised, not the eyes of an adoring fan. She had neither recognized nor known me. She didn't even have the courtesy to act surprised when my identity came forth.

I had grown so accustomed to being recognized on the streets that her reaction shocked me for a moment, my pride could not believe that there was someone in Hong Kong who did not know my face. I had unintentionally paused and I had kept my hands on her and stared until I realized that something else about her face drew my eyes.

For some reason, I got the feeling that I had seen it once before. Obviously, this shouldn't have been surprising, she being Higurashi Miroku's sister. The odd thing was that I knew I had seen her face on someone else, and I couldn't remember who. It was amusing really. Why would I ever think such a thing?

And then suddenly, I realized who she looked like, and it was _fucking_ hilarious.

I smirked, but I didn't laugh.

All of a sudden, I wanted to get away, _far _away, from this table of false smiles and superficial camaraderie. It was disgusting the way Sango smiled sweetly and Miroku patiently listened to Myouga's long winded speeches. They were just tools used to serve the media, to serve Myouga, to serve _Naraku_, and, considering what Naraku's plots typically ended up as, maybe even _me_. I couldn't stand it anymore.

I wanted to just stand up and leave, but I knew Naraku would have my hide if I did. So I settled for a temporary resolution.

I scooted my chair back and abruptly stood up. Four pairs of eyes turned around to look at me.

"I need to take a shit," I announced casually, "Where's the restroom at?"

_

* * *

Kagome_

My first thought was, how rude of him, he'd actually said _shit_ out loud (In _public_! What _nerve! _How _cool! _I mean, _rude_, right), and how _stupid _of me. If Inuyasha was willing to be rude by going to the bathroom, then how come I wasn't? I could have saved myself so much pain…

And then my mind started shrieking at me: _THERE'S YOUR CHANCE!!!_

I shot up out of my chair, chopsticks clanging against the plate.

"I'll show you the way!" I said, a little louder than I intended.

Silence.

Inuyasha and I both stayed standing for a moment, I staring with hope and dread, he only emotionless or perhaps too dumbfounded to react. Then he seemed to sigh.

"Great," he mumbled and stalked off, leaving me to blink and scramble after him.

Judging from the long strides he took toward the exit of the main dining room, not even slowing to wait for me to catch up, Inuyasha's questioning of the restroom's location was entirely rhetorical. I pretended not to notice and tried to run up to his side, which ended up as more of a scuttle than a run with my high heels.

Luckily, Inuyasha paused for a moment when he reached the opening of the dining room, which met a long corridor that separated the dining room from the reception lobby. The left end of the corridor led to the kitchens and the right end to the restrooms.

I ignored the fact that Inuyasha most likely saw the vivid red sign on the wall that proclaimed "Toilets" with an arrow pointing to the right for himself and _probably _didn't need me to lead him to it. But there was no way I was going to pass this chance up.

"This way," I said merrily, voice a tad more high-pitched than usual, and scuttled down the corridor. Inuyasha probably thought I was the lowest kind of idiot. I certainly didn't blame him for giving me that incredulous look with that eyebrow gradually rising higher and higher across his forehead and that mouth sliding into a mocking smirk as if he couldn't _believe _I was actually…

Hey…

Halfway to the bathrooms, I stopped in my scuttle when I noticed that Inuyasha wasn't next to me anymore and looked over my shoulder. Inuyasha had, at some point a few steps back, discontinued our way to the bathroom and now lounged against the wall. From a hidden pocket in his silk clothes, he removed a slim, red box.

_Hey?!_

"What are you doing?" I demanded, my voice suddenly back to its normal pitch.

Inuyasha glanced up at me and sneered. Without looking way, he removed a silver, paper-wrapped strip from the box and stuck it into his mouth unwrapped.

I swiveled my gaze to the red box in his grip. Now that I focused on it, it wasn't actually a box but a packet of…

Inuyasha's mouth moved, although the remainder of his face kept still. After a second, he pressed his lips together and spat at the ground. A soggy wad of the silver wrapping flew through the air and splattered to carpeted ground near my feet. Ignoring my shocked face, Inuyasha stuck a gooey, pink-covered tongue out, blew out a pink bubble, and snapped it with loud crack.

A group of waiters hurried across the corridor with a platter of roast pork. None turned to look at the shiny, silver wad on the carpet.

I stared, lip trembling as the lower regions of my body screamed for mercy, which only increased when it became clear that Inuyasha had no intention of continuing down the corridor.

_Chewing gum_? That was _it?_

"Don't you…toilets… you…" I stuttered incoherently.

Right, this can be settled rationally. Regain your composure Kagome, it's not that hard, you've dealt with annoying people before, no need to get flustered over _him_. Deep breath in…out…

"Why'd you ask if you didn't need to go the bathroom?" I snapped. I didn't bother mentioning which question I was talking about.

Inuyasha blew another bubble at me.

"You wouldn't care," he answered monotonously.

I balled my fists at my sides. If my situation had not gotten so pitifully desperate, my response would have been drastically different.

Putting aside my initial contempt for Inuyasha, I stalked a few steps forward and surprised the both of us by grabbing onto a sleeve of his silk jacket. I paused, taken back at my own actions for a moment, but plowed on anyway.

"Look, I really need to… _go_, and I've had to go for _hours_ and any moment now I'm going to explode." Maybe that was too much information, but Inuyasha neither reacted nor seemed to care so I continued. "I don't know how it's going to look if you go back without me… or… whatever! So--" I clenched his sleeve tensely, fully aware that the sweat from my palms was probably at this moment leaving a soak mark on the silk, and there were also a few strands of white hair caught in my fingers, but I pushed that thought out of my mind for the time being. "--Could you please… look I'm really, _really_ need to go, so would you wait here for me while I'm gone? Don't go back to the table without me?"

Inuyasha had that same look on his face again, as if his eyebrow was going to leap off his forehead at any moment. I could feel my eyes widening and my cheeks burning with desperation and embarrassment.

Inuyasha shrugged. "Do whatever the fuck you want," he mumbled. "It's not as if I'm going back anytime soon."

His noncommittal response seemed more affirmative then negative. Whether it was because he wanted to get rid of me or if he genuinely felt for my woe, however likely _that_ was, remained to be seen. But the important thing is, he agreed!

Inuyasha started to blow a bubble again, but failed as I squeezed his arm happily.

"_Arigato gozaimasu_!" I squealed. "Er… I mean, thank you! _Doh__ jeh sai!_"

I let go of his arm and scampered toward the ladies' room. Right before I opened the door, just because it seemed appropriate, I turned around and said, "Sorry about bumping into you, you know, before…"

Inuyasha didn't respond, so I shrugged, entered the ladies' room and dashed into the nearest open stall, where I had the most relieving few minutes of my life.

He was still there when I walked out of the bathroom and I pretended it was because he was keeping his promise to me.

"Shall we go back then?" I chirped, finally free of pain.

Inuyasha didn't give me his incredulous look this time. He _glared _at me with his hard, gold eyes. The intensity of his glare was so thick that it was gold, if a glare's intensity can have a color. I found that aspect amusing, especially since the gold undoubtedly came from color eye contacts. Thus I decided to name it right then and there. Smiling slightly as his intensity deepened, I dubbed it, Inuyasha's Gold Stare.

For some reason the intensity died off a tad bit once I stamped it with a name.

I looked back into the Gold Stare, wondering if I had done something to deserve it or if he was just an asshole (the more likely reason). When it became apparent after a few seconds that he was not going answer me, I shrugged.

"Suit yourself," I told him. Now that I had relieved myself, who cared about being rude? Obviously being in a state of pain had impaired my judgment the whole evening. "I'll just go back then… um, see you at the table!"

I whipped around and darted back to the table to get away from his Gold Stare, cursing my high-heels with every step. The adults were still chatting away and paid no heed to my return, making me feel _that_ much more insignificant than ever. Oh wait, I _am _insignificant in the grand schemes of the music industry. How could I have forgotten?

Sighing, I let the bliss of not needing to pee wear away as Miroku's politics washed over.

I sat back wearily. I had temporarily forgotten my resentment only because Inuyasha had presented a solution to the bathroom (ew, that sounded dirty even in my head). I admit, it had been _amusing_ to see Inuyasha's Gold Stare, and he really wasn't so intimidating anymore. Now that it was all resolved, my mind snapped back to the unfairness of the business matter at hand. Once again, I wondered, what made Inuyasha so important that Miroku and Sango were _still _sucking up to his manager?

At this moment, Myouga was scoffing at the recently successful musicians from Japan.

"Japanese pop stars these days have no _style_," Myouga complained, a kernel of rice wobbling on his upper lip.

"Is that so, Myouga sir?" Sango inquired, pointedly ignoring my stare.

"All they depend on is their _talent_," Myouga declared, smirking at the word _talent_. "They disregard the importance of reputation and charisma! Pah!" Rice kernels sprayed into the air.

"Indeed, Myouga?" Miroku said mildly.

"Obviously so!"

I wondered if I had the gall to glare to Myouga, but I decided not to risk things for Miroku. I settled for gawking at Miroku. That was a direct insult! Myouga not only had no tact nor musical awareness whatsoever, he was racist as well! And Miroku and Sango were just sucking it up?

"Ah, Inuyasha!" Myouga exclaimed.

I looked up as Inuyasha plopped down onto his seat. He did not appear to be chewing anything.

"We were just discussing the music business in Japan," Myouga explained to him. "I think you'd agree that the Japanese market would do immensely well if some, say, _Chinese_ musicians were introduced to them? Hm? It certainly wouldn't hurt for them to sample music outside that little island, don't you think?"

It was small, it was subtle, but I definitely saw Inuyasha give a careful glance over to us Japanese folk. It was only a flicker of the eyes, but it was there.

And then, that's when I discovered the reason behind it all.

"If _Naraku_ thinks so, then I don't see why you're asking me anything," Inuyasha replied, shrugging carelessly.

I blinked, and blinked again. My blood began to surge and my face tinted red as that _name_ sunk in.

Myouga grunted importantly. "But of course!" he declared. "The word of Naraku Onigumo is never wrong." He grinned and inclined his head toward Miroku implicatively.

_Naraku_ _Onigumo_…

…

… an important figure in the society of Hong Kong because of his many contributions toward the greater public good. Such contributions came in forms of illicit guilty pleasures, namely prostitution and endorsement of the underground drug trade. His actions of late resulted in bloodshed and warfare within the darker areas of China and Taiwan. How this supported public welfare was apparent in that his dealings graced the newspapers all over China, and suddenly, the public had gained a sense of caution, and no more bloodshed came about. No public bloodshed at least.

An aura of mystery surrounds this figurehead. The strangest part was that although his doings were well documented, _mostly_, no matter how much the crime department of Hong Kong endeavored, nobody managed to find solid evidence linking Naraku to them. Even though it was common knowledge that he was the root of all the trouble, Naraku walked free into the world.

The fact that Naraku led, and still does, the Triads, the mafia, the leaders of organized crime in China was common knowledge as well.

However, lately, Naraku was quiet in criminal doings. Apparently, Naraku had switched over into other aspects of society, mainly entertainment. He had begun his own talent agency and quickly leapt into the industry. Unsurprisingly, every single prodigy he backed, no matter what the degree of talent was, came out wondrously successful. It made more than a few wonder how much Naraku had dipped into his Triad connections to supplement his new projects…

…

Thus far, my brother had managed to keep away from the Triads in his career. There were minor brushes with them in the days before the Accident. However, when I came to live with him, Miroku put in extra effort to avoid any sort of dealings with the mafia, so during my stay in Hong Kong, I had never encountered the Triads. But we all knew that it was only temporary. In the entertainment industry, encountering the Triads was inevitable.

Miroku smiled in response to Myouga's inclination of the head. "Who can deny it?" he said placidly. His gaze swiveled slightly toward me. "_Who _can deny the word of Naraku?"

I looked down and noticed that my hands clasped the table edge in a shivering grip. I let go abruptly and tried to breathe.

Naraku was involved. It explained so much, like Inuyasha's quick, easy rise to the top, like why Miroku and Sango were willing to be walked upon. Going against a Triad member was always a risky move, against a Triad _boss_ was a sure mistake, especially one with Naraku's dark reputation. _Of course_ Miroku had no choice but to cooperate, to accept a shoddy deal with unequal benefits and allow a junior, an _inferior, _use him as a step to greater success.

It was an answer, but it raised yet more questions to my mind. Why was Naraku interested in Miroku? Surely there were pop stars more profitable than my brother. What would Naraku do if Miroku refused the partnership with Inuyasha? Would he hurt Miroku?

_Oh my god._ I _bumped_ into Inuyasha. I followed him to the bathroom. I grabbed his _sleeve_. I _snapped_ at him. Was Naraku going to send a hit man after me for disrespecting his subordinate?!

I swirled the turn table around, snatched the cider bottle, and poured myself a hefty amount in my cup. I didn't look anywhere outside the amber liquid in my glass, I don't know how I would have reacted if I had set eyes on my brother. How could he do this? What had he done to get noticed by Naraku? Didn't he know how much more dangerous our livers were now? And Sango, she was Miroku's manager; it was her _job _to keep Miroku away from situations like this. She'd had two years of experience in this position; shouldn't she have known what she was doing at this point? Sango was supposed to be a genius!

Oh, I definitely wouldn't trust my reaction if I glanced at Myouga, pompous arrogant asshole he was. He seemed to be aware of the great power he wielded over us and he gleefully abused it. At this moment I wanted him to choke on that glob of rice he stuffed into his mouth, wanted him to turn blue and purple with suffocation for treating us so patronizingly. And I wanted more to happen to Inuyasha, the fucking, useless, talentless pop star. Who was he to leech off Miroku's success? Miroku actually _worked_ for fame. Inuyasha only relied on his little _mafia boss_ to lend him some glory. He deserved to be lying on the floor, twitching spasmodically, and die choking on his own vomit.

I shook my head and quickly gulped my cider. Right, no violent thoughts. Breathe in, breathe out, sip some cider, calm down…

It was happening again; I became so angered that I pictured violence. The first time was a few months after the Accident, and _that _had resulted in a fight. I couldn't let myself react that way now. I'm older, I have more control, I can relax, I can do it, I _can_.

And suddenly my throat constricted as the cider went down the wrong tube and my head pitched forward.

"Kagome! Kagome are you all right?!"

I coughed and spluttered and somebody began thumping my back. Hastily, I covered my mouth with my cloth napkin as liquid dribbled out and spilled onto the table cloth.

"I'm fine," I reassured Miroku as he took his hand from my back. Oops, now I was looking at him. I closed my eyes, willingly myself to calm down, and sighed. "Sorry," I mumbled.

"Fuck, there's nothing to apologize for," somebody grumbled.

I glanced to the side just as Inuyasha looked away. Well _excuse_ _me..._ Crap, now Inuyasha was in my view. No violent thoughts Kagome, no violent thoughts…

"I think Kagome is just tired," Sango remarked and glanced at her watch. "It is getting quiet late. Shall we call it a night, Myouga sir?"

"I think so," Myouga replied and yawned widely, as if _he _had made the suggestion.

I was so relieved that I managed to give Sango a grateful look when Myouga and Inuyasha weren't looking.

We all exited the restaurant together amid bows and expressions of gratitude from the employees. Once outside, the adults shook hands with each other, Miroku and Sango thanking Myouga for treating them to dinner and Myouga replying that he had a wonderful time and hoped to see future outings like this. When Miroku shook Inuyasha's hand, he patted his shoulder and remarked, "I look forward to working with you." Inuyasha half-smirked and nodded slightly.

Naturally, no one bothered to shake my hand. I put in an effort and managed a generic smile and bid them fair well. For whatever reasons I didn't want to think about, Inuyasha glanced at me and I was once again treated with a Gold Stare. It only lasted a second. He turned away afterward without a word.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but at that moment, our driver, Jin, honked the car as he pulled up to the sidewalk. Oh well, maybe next time…

"That went a little better than I expected," Sango said, switching to Japanese, once we were safely in the car.

I watched as bright, neon lights from dance clubs swerved past. A girl standing on the sidewalk pointed in our direction and I looked away. "Better?" I asked in cold disbelief. "What were you expecting it to be like?"

Sango turned around in the front seat and eyed me curiously. "Are you still worried about bumping him into Inuyasha, Kagome? I wouldn't dwell on that too much. It's not as if you bruised him or anything and he wasn't angry."

"How do you know?" I mumbled in frustration. "Oh, never mind!"

Beside me, Miroku looked at me, but it was only until we were caught in a traffic jam five minutes away from home that he confronted me. Of course, he only confronted me in his own way by staring at me pointedly.

After a moment of the traffic, the honking, the shouts of angry drivers, and Miroku's staring combined, I finally relented.

"Why didn't either of you _tell_ me Inuyasha was backed by the Triads?" I snapped irritably into the silence of the car. "Were you going to let me know at _all_? Were you just going to let me sit there and make a fool of myself? What are you both _thinking?_ How could you—"

"I had my reasons," Miroku interrupted. "And you didn't make a fool of yourself."

"Yes I did! And don't change the subject Nii-chan! Why didn't you want me to know? Answer the question!"

I heard Sango twitch uncomfortably in front of me as Miroku gave me another specific look.

"First, you have to calm down," Miroku told me and smiled in response to my bristled glare.

"I know you were against any business deal I made with Gao Inuyasha," my brother continued. ("_Were?"_ I squeaked.) "And you were like this when you didn't know about Gao-san's… connections. How do you think the evening would have gone if you had known about Naraku from the beginning?"

"I think it would have gone better than this!" Yeah, I'd have been smart enough to look where I'm going. I'd have known better than to bother Inuyasha _goh_-_goh_. I'd have gone to the bathroom before hand. Hell, I wouldn't have drunk so much cider to begin with.

"I don't think the night went as terribly as you seem to think," Miroku replied smoothly. "There weren't any fights, we had interesting discussions, and nobody was offended." He paused in thought. "Well, nobody reacted explosively to any offense," he added.

My mouth hung agape for a moment. "How can you be so calm about this?!" I realized the stupidity of that question (Miroku personified serenity, an action he'd proved over and over again) and threw my hands up in frustration.

"Give us a little more credit, Kagome-chan," Sango said with a sigh. "We _do_ know what we're doing and we are more than aware of what we're getting into. It's not as though it'd be different if Naraku weren't involved in any case."

That was a lie. That Naraku was in this made all the difference in the world. Sango was lying to me. Why was she lying? Why were they sheltering me from the truth? Why was I being treated like a _child_?

"But if you _knew _about it all along, what was the point of bringing me along?" I snapped. "I thought you just wanted me to realize that Inuyasha wasn't a threat to your career!"

Miroku tilted his head and regarded me with amusement. "Well, it would be nice if you didn't think that," he said thoughtfully.

I narrowed my eyes and turned away to the window. I didn't answer any attempts Miroku or Sango made to talk to me and shook off Miroku's fingers from my hair.

Who cared if I was being immature? Obviously Miroku and Sango, the two people closest to me, did not have much trust in me. What was I supposed to do? Talk it out? Hell no, I wasn't in the mood to reconcile. I was the wronged one here. I deserved a good, everlasting sulk.

When the car pulled to the curb, I didn't even wait for Jin to open the door for me. I stomped ahead into the apartment building and went up the elevator without _them_. As my luck went, I didn't have the key to the penthouse and was forced to wait for Miroku and Sango to arrive. I endured Miroku's amused glance aimed toward me as he unlocked the door and brushed past him before he could walk in.

I didn't cry when I lay down to sleep that night. I _almost_ did, but I didn't.

Miroku was my brother, and I know he cared for me. But sometimes he cared so much that he tried to help in ways that hurt me. It wasn't his fault. Things just happen in ways that drive him to do the wrong thing. Like that time he brought Mama's viola back from Japan, I remembered experiencing overwhelming pain (although I admit, in the end, the viola situation worked out for the best… but that's not the point!).

He tries his best; he does all he can to make up for my parents' absence. But what Miroku doesn't understand is that he's _not _my parent, he's my _brother_. Because of this, anything he does that remotely resembles parenthood comes out twisted and corrupted.

There was knock on my door and it creaked open.

"Kagome?"

I rolled over and pretended to be asleep as Miroku padded inside and knelt down next to my bed.

"Kagome? Are you awake?" When I didn't answer, he sighed. "We'll talk in the morning, all right?"

I felt his fingers brush my hair from my face and tuck the blanket closer to my body and a small tear slid down my cheek as he kissed me good night on the forehead.


	5. Chapter 3: Interrogation

A/n: I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't update for at least five months this time! Sorry! I promise you, I didn't intend to go for so long without updating. Things happened, evil things. Like testing, and homework, and school. That's pretty much always my excuse, isn't it?

One thing, I made a bad mistake. In Japan, the age of adulthood is not 18 but 20, which makes that aspect of this fic inaccurate. Oops? Well, it's my own fault. I should have checked it first. However, I am not going to change Miroku's age for two reasons. One, I don't have the time, effort, nor patience to go back and find each and every place I mentioned Miroku's age. Two, that would screw up some of my planning, because I did plan this fic out with the character's ages in mind.

That said, here's the chapter:

o

o

_Chapter Three: Interrogation _

_Miroku_

And why did I bring Kagome along to meet individuals affiliated with the Triads?

I acknowledge that, looking at the situation over all, it was indeed a very dangerous move to bring my sister along. As I left my sister and entered my bedroom, I wondered if I had done something I could possibly regret.

But Sango hadn't stopped me. She had raised some concerns when I suggested taking Kagome along, but after I offered solutions to those concerns, she merely nodded her approval. Surely that was an indication that I had not been making a mistake?

I closed my eyes; but in the morning, I found that my sister's furious reaction still rested on my mind. It was strange. I can go through tantrums and lawsuits from my ex-girlfriends and wake up perfectly content the next morning, but damn if I let my little sister think even only a little negatively of me.

Rubbing my eyes, I sat up and trudged out of bed and into the hallway. I paused for a moment and glanced to my left towards Kagome's bedroom. After a moment of hesitation, I silently walked to her bedroom door and pushed it opened, just enough for me to peek in. And there she was, curled up snuggly in her sheets.

Not for the first time I wondered how Papa and Mama had felt whenever they saw one of their children sleeping. Had my parents attempted to picture what we dreamed of, tried to pierce the surface of the sleeping of our minds? Had they imagined that in this stretched moment of time they watched, their children were not humans but angels traveling just a little closer to heaven with every minute? Would they think it crazy to decide right there and then that their children were, in fact, the most beautiful beings in the world?

And then I remembered, yet again, that they certainly had not gotten many chances to watch me sleep as a child, since my work usually took me away from home. Certainly I hadn't minded back then, but as I observed Kagome, the thought struck me as disconcerting. Just imagining seeing Kagome's bed empty sent a shiver along my spine. How had they felt to see an empty bed in their eldest son's room for long stretches of time?

It's amazing how one's perspective changes when one becomes a legal guardian.

I closed the door with a soft click and leaned back onto the door frame, brushing a hand through my uncombed, disheveled hair as I tried to control the overwhelming rush of emotions. Kagome was growing up, and little moments like these offered me the only assurance that she was indeed still Kagome, my sister. Moments like these had to be cherished.

As I sat in the kitchen ten minutes later, drinking coffee and fingering a piece of toast, I realized that it was only during the past several years that I've begun to understand the extent of the role of an elder brother. If just being a brother is like this, than I fear to ponder what parenthood entails. Or, perhaps I've simply confused the actions of parenthood for brotherhood to a degree that I can no longer see the line between them.

My mind wandered back to the matter at hand. If including Kagome in my meeting with Gao Inuyasha had really been so dangerous, wouldn't I know? Hadn't I developed enough parental instincts to judge what was safe and unsafe for my charge?

I added more sugar to my coffee and decided, with a self-satisfied nod and little snicker at myself, that I disliked questions immensely. After all, if it-

Footsteps padded down the staircase and slapped onto the tiles of the kitchen threshold. Without turning to look, I only had to listen to the unevenness and scattered nature of the footsteps to determine who had just walked in. Placidly, I sipped my bitter drink as Kagome stopped moving, and suddenly I felt the tingling of a stare directed at me. I took another sip. A moment passed and Kagome continued on into the kitchen.

"_Ohayo_," I greeted with a smile as Kagome passed me on the way to the cabinet.

My sister only muttered a low "hi" in reply and did not look at me. I crooked a smile to myself in amusement. Even in anger, Kagome still kept up her manners.

As Kagome walked to the bowl of fruit on the kitchen counter and grabbed a banana, I sighed. Obviously she was trying to spend as little time as possible in the same room as me if she was only going to eat fruit for breakfast, and no doubt in her bedroom. This wouldn't do.

"Don't leave yet," I said as she turned to the kitchen door. "We have things to talk about."

"Not now," Kagome snapped as she began walking.

"Yes, now," I called back without thinking and cringed at my ineloquence. I stared up at the ceiling and tried to remember how my parents had dealt with me when I was a sulky teenager. I took a slow breath to collect my nerves and tried again.

"Kagome," I said wearily. "Sit down, please? And talk to me for a bit?"

She paused in her steps, back facing me. The sounds of an irritated groan and foot stomp reached my ears. Finally, Kagome turned around and plopped down onto a chair I pulled out beside me, sitting with her legs crossed.

"What?" my sister asked testily.

As I adjusted my sitting position to face her, a messy lock of hair flopped onto my face. I brushed it away impatiently and tried to smile warmly at Kagome.

"I know you're mad at me about last night, and I'm sorry about that," I began. "I guess I should have told you about the Triads' involvement before we went--"

"Then why _didn't_ you tell me, then?" Kagome cut in. "Did you think about it at _all_?"

I gazed at her serenely and reminded myself that Kagome had her reasons for acting immaturely if she so desired. "I told you, I had my reasons."

"Are you going to tell me them or not!"

I smiled in the face of her fury and patted the hands she fisted on her knees. "That's one of the things I want to talk about, among other things," I informed her calmly. I wasn't quite sure what the "other things" were as of yet, but I figured they'd come to me when we were done discussing the first item on the list.

Kagome gave a little "humph!" and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms protectively around them, dislodging my hands in the process.

She hadn't turned her head away from me, which I took as a good sign. I pressed on.

"First…" I notched my head to the side. "Tell me exactly why you're upset about last night."

Kagome bristled. "You're just trying to piss me off, aren't you? You already _know _why so stop wasting my time!"

"On the contrary, I don't," I commented, mildly amused that she would think so lowly of me. "The impression I got from last night is that you are angry with me and Sango for not telling you that Gao Inuyasha's involved with the Triads." I raised an eyebrow for confirmation. Kagome tilted her head down. I took it as a nod and continued. "That's understandable of course, and a mistake on my part. But other than that, I am perfectly mystified about your anger, and I get the feeling that there's more to it than that."

She glowered at me. "You're so _clueless_."

"I'm just a brother, not a mind reader," I replied. "I'm not trying to trick you, Kagome. I really have very little idea of what you're upset about."

Actually I was lying, only a little. I knew Kagome and I could very well guess the reasons behind her outburst last night, but this conversation would go more smoothly if she told me herself.

I nodded and smiled encouragingly.

Kagome sighed and looked up at the ceiling in what looked like exasperation. I waited patiently.

"…You didn't tell me that Gao-san was with the Triads, and _Naraku Onigumo_ at that," my sister said.

I nodded again at her restatement of the matter at hand.

Kagome fell silent, and I felt her gaze studying my face, perhaps looking for a more emotional response than my nod. Knowing her, she most likely wanted me to be unreasonable, deny that I had made any mistake, something to give her an excuse to lash out without guilt.

I saw no reason to give her such an excuse and remained silent, patiently waiting for her to continue. In my experience, silence prompted a better response than words would.

"The Triads are _dangerous_," Kagome blurted out. "If you're making a deal with someone in their grip, the Triads could get a grip on _you. _And then if we ever want to leave they'll probably send their bodyguards to come beat us into submission. Or they'll start feeding us drugs and make us addicted to them and threaten to take the drugs away if we leave. Drugs are bad! Really bad! Naraku will make you really successful in your career but it'll be fake because it'll only be based on reputation not actually talent..."

Smiling and nodding seriously, I let Kagome babble on and listened closely.

"…And if we ever try to leave the country Naraku will probably send gangsters after us. As punishment for trying to escape he'll probably sell us all into prostitution! He'll make you sleep with his single niece and Sango and I will be forced to entertain all his guests, or something!"

Kagome paused to take a breath, but I stopped her here.

"I think you've been watching too many movies," I told her. "I doubt any of that would really happen."

"You never _know_," Kagome pointed out. "There's always a _possibility_."

"Quite." I propped my elbow up onto the table and leaned my chin onto a hand. "So you've established that being involved with Naraku is risky," I reported dutifully. "But you haven't answered my question. Tell me what _you're_ upset about."

Fuming, Kagome snapped, "Do I have to spell it out for you? Haven't I made it clear?"

"You've delineated that you fear for the future," I stated. "That is all."

No, it wasn't all. I could see the underlying problems implied in her rambling and could easily guess the reasons for her anger. Kagome had been caught by surprise last night, and circumstances had not given her time to absorb the shock and react appropriately. She no doubt felt hurt that I hadn't been the one to break it to her. But this was all speculation. I've found that my speculations on the emotions of females were often off, no matter how carefully I had thought it through. It was one thing to misjudge one of my girlfriends, who came went without consistency, but it was another to misjudge my sister.

"You _are _clueless," Kagome reiterated and groaned at the ceiling. Still facing the ceiling, she snapped, "Nii-chan, _of course_ I'm scared, and I'm surprised that you're not. I didn't know what to do when Gao Inuyasha said Naraku's name."

Kagome looked at me again, only this time she just looked resigned instead of angry.

Yes, I thought. This was it. This was the _moment_ when she revealed the actual reason behind it all.

It started softly.

"I didn't know how to react last night, when Gao-san mentioned Naraku," Kagome said in a low, tired voice. "I mean, I already felt stupid, especially after making of fool of myself in front of Gao—"

"You _didn't_ make a fool of yourself," I pointed out.

"Yes I did! But that's not the point. The point is that I think signing a deal with Gao is going to screw you over. I thought it was going to in the first place, and knowing that Gao's involved with the Triads just proves it."

I shook my head. "It's not—"

"And I can't believe you brought me with too!" she interrupted. "I thought you just wanted me to face up to Gao so that I wouldn't be against the deal, but that's not it, right? I don't get it. It's one thing to put yourself in danger, but bringing me with you? I don't mean to be selfish, but why would you do that? You always tell me to stay _away _from the dangerous parts of the music industry, but then you bring me _to _it. I'm so confused. It doesn't make sense."

My sister gave me a calculating look, once again looking for some sort of reaction. I didn't humor her and only gave my customary nod and smile. She sighed.

"It's okay that you brought me to the jaws of the mafia, I guess," Kagome relented. "I didn't actually get hurt, and it didn't seem like they were _thinking_ of killing me later." She rubbed her temples distractedly.

I frowned in thought. This seemed to confirm my suspicions. It wasn't the dinner itself that upset Kagome but…

"Why didn't you tell me about it?" Kagome asked, closing her eyes with a sigh. "Did you think I'd freak out if I knew?" She paused and then hastily corrected herself. "I mean, I know I'm freaking out _now_, aren't I? But I swear I wouldn't have if you told me before. You should have told me before we went anyway! It's like you don't trust me or something Nii-chan."

And there it was.

I opened my mouth to reply at the same time Sango dashed into the kitchen.

"Higurashi-san! You're still not dressed yet!" she shrieked frantically, clumsily pouring herself a glass of soymilk. "You have a radio interview in an _hour_. We have to leave in _half_ an hour. You're not dressed yet, and you haven't even finished breakfast!" Sango took a long gulp of her soymilk as Kagome and I watched dumbly. "Your _hair_," Sango wailed suddenly, gesturing at me with the hand holding the cup.

"Yes?" I asked mildly.

"It's _terrible_," Sango moaned. "What did you _do _to your hair?"

I ran a hand ruefully through my hair and discovered that I couldn't due to the accumulation of tangles and random knots. Puzzled, I teased out a lock of hair to look at and stared at the matted mass of black strands. I felt with my other hand a few inches above my head and felt the ends of what was most probably a cowlick.

"Hum," I said. Perhaps it was good that I hadn't looked in mirror as of yet this morning.

"Is that all you have to say!" Sango snapped without amusement. "Finish your breakfast and go up and get dressed. And fix your _hair_."

"I'll go up now," I offered.

"Good. Don't even bother with your dishes, you take too long. I'll take care of it," Sango said fretfully.

I almost insisted on doing my own dishes, but decided that now was not the time to test Sango's nerves. There were more important things to do, that discussion with Kagome in particular. Standing up, I said to my sister, "Why don't you help me choose what to wear, Kagome. It's only a radio interview but you never know if the people have a camera handy."

Kagome shrugged and followed me out of the kitchen.

In my bedroom, I opened the closet and considered the assorted hanging clothes. Behind me, Kagome sat on my bed and stared at a wall. For a moment, it was silent.

Grabbing the first shirt that came to my fingers, I thought about how to begin.

"I don't blame you for feeling that way, just to let you know," I commented. "I didn't mean for the mafia angle to be sprung upon you so unexpectedly, and I apologize for that."

I turned to look at Kagome as I grabbed a random pair of pants and tried not to sigh when she made no response. Tossing the shirt and pants over the side of the bed, I plopped down next to my sister.

"Yes, being involved with the Triads is risky," I continued on. "And bringing you there was risky as well. But I honestly don't think it was that dangerous."

Kagome, in spite of herself, turned to give me an exasperated look.

I held up a hand for silence. "Remember, I'm not denying that Triad involvement is dangerous. It is the dinner outing that I'm talking about."

She still looked dubious, which, knowing her state of mind, didn't surprise me. I patted her shoulder as I continued. "Trust me, that Myouga? He's perfectly harmless. He might have talked all high and mighty, but it's all hot air when you come down to it. We can deduce that Myouga _does _have direct contact with some Triad higher ups, but that does _not_ mean that he himself holds a formidable position. So even if we _did_ offend him, which I doubt, it wouldn't matter because the bosses, the ones who _do _matter, probably wouldn't care in any case—"

I paused when Kagome abruptly hopped off the bed and casually padded out my bedroom without a word. Listening to her footsteps moving away, I waited patiently, self- assured that Kagome would not outright walk out of a conversation.

Sure enough, a couple of minutes later, Kagome reentered the room with a comb and a bottle of what I strongly suspected was Sango's detangling hairspray.

She shrugged at my suspicious look and plopped down behind me. "Your hair bothers me," she stated simply, cool fingers pulling hair from my face.

I frowned and glanced around at her, trying to stay collected instead of surprised, but Kagome took hold of my chin and gently swiveled my face back around. Fingers smoothened hair from my forehead and then snagged on a knot.

I shrugged. "So," I said as her fingers began to carefully unravel the knot, "if you're really so anxious about the impression we gave to Myouga, don't. There is no need to worry about anything Myouga might do. Do you understand?"

Kagome sighed, her breath sharply hitting my skin, but she continued to pick at my hair.

Suddenly I wondered if I was really as secure as I thought I was. Was Myouga really so useless? Was there really no harm in it all?

Did I really know what I was doing?

"And you shouldn't worry about whatever Gao Inuyasha says," I added, attempting to keep up my confident facade.

But it occurred to me that it didn't matter what I said on the subject anymore, just as long as I said something. So I talked on and on, repeating the same assurances and promises of safety, of having complete confidence in the actions we took and optimism in the deal with Gao Inuyasha and his somewhat questionable patronage. As I spoke, eventually I closed my eyes since I only faced the rest of my room with Kagome sitting behind me. I couldn't tell if she believed anything I said, not even if I believed it. She only continued to brush and undo the snags in my hair, wetting it with detangling spray every now and then.

"I still haven't said why I brought you with me, did I?" I commented eventually.

The swish of a brush running through hair answered me.

"But does it still matter?" I wondered. The brush suddenly hit on a snag and twitched against my scalp. I said quickly, "but I should say it anyway, of course."

And I was back to that question again: why did I bring Kagome along to meet individuals affiliated with the Triads? And then another question came: did I have an answer to give?

"I'm not sure," I said, and I wasn't lying. Perhaps I had an inkling of a reason when I told her that she was going with me, and perhaps that inkling had slipped through my fingers and disappeared. Perhaps that inkling had only been a figment of my imagination. "I think," I began and paused to give myself time to decide what to say, "that it had something to do with…" I had to decide quickly. "…With… with me hardly seeing you these days, and how…"

How different her world was from mine, even though she lived with me, and how I wanted to protect her from my world by bringing her into it so I could keep her close. And how I didn't know if this impulse stemmed from me being a big brother who didn't know if he was supposed to act like her parent or not, and how I didn't know what the difference between a brother and parent was anymore.

It was something to something along those lines.

"…I'm not sure," I confessed again, wearily.

Kagome gave my hair one final brush and set it down on the bed. She gathered my hair at my neck and tied it with a band.

"It's okay," she said. "I guess," she added as an afterthought.

I turned around to face her and she looked back with an expression not quite convinced, but with some acceptance. "Okay," I replied. "Okay."

And that seemed to be that.

I glanced at the clock on the set of drawers next my bed and noted pleasantly, "I have to leave in ten minutes."

"Do you still need help deciding what to wear?" Kagome asked glancing at the outfit I had tossed onto the bed.

"Nah," I replied. "The radio people can handle my bad fashion sense for a day—"

A frantic series of knocks at the door interrupted me, and Sango burst through the door, saying fretfully, "Kagome, Houjou-sensei is here and waiting for you in the living room. Higurashi-san! You're _still _not dressed! We have to leave soon, you know!"

The fact that she could have opened the door on me changing apparently had not occurred to Sango. What a pity. "In due time, Sango, in due time," I said smilingly.

o

o

_Sango_

o

My second day of Being Miroku's Actual Manager was not starting out very well, but I did learn something new. I now understand why Miroku's old manager Lei always acted like he had a prickly stick up his butt. Trying to manage someone as unruly as Miroku would drive anyone crazy.

I managed to get him out of the flat five minutes earlier than planned, but _somehow_, we arrived at the radio studio five minutes late. It shouldn't have happened. I had carefully planned out the day, scheduling in an extra twenty minutes to account for the morning traffic rush to the car ride to the radio station, which would only have taken about ten minutes from the flat with ideal traffic conditions. And yet, we were _still _late. I should have expected something like this, since Miroku had that strange and rather unfair ability to twist circumstances to his pleasure. Or maybe it was the fact that Miroku stopped and got out of the car to shake hands with _every single _self-acclaimed fan we encountered along the way. And the fact that he was sneaky enough to prevent me from stopping him only made my morning worse. He did this by employing such techniques as rambling conversations with fans, letting fans clutch his arm and not let go, and autographing articles of clothing, lingering in such a way that I could not intervene without raising some sort of outcry.

"I'm very sorry for our tardiness," I apologized to the radio crew, bowing deeply. "Please forgive us."

But the radio show producer only shrugged at me and stepped forward with a hospitable hand to Miroku.

"Higurashi Miroku! Welcome to our studio and to the show! Please hurry, our listeners are very eager to hear you speak…"

I opened my mouth at his rudeness, but Miroku swung out his hand to the producer, arm gently brushing against mine. I caught the hint and shut my mouth as Miroku let himself get bustled into the recording studio and accepted a pair of headphones. Sitting on a chair and taking up my own headphones, it occurred to me that Miroku probably felt comfortable in this setting, the ease of repetition and practice making it almost home-like to him.

For the umpteenth time this morning, I wondered why the hell Miroku kept me, with all my inexperience and naivety, as his manager, and why the hell I accepted the job. I couldn't repress the feeling that I should be back at the flat testing Kagome on Chinese vocabulary instead of sitting here in some hotshot radio studio, wondering if I was supposed to exert some kind of authority as a celebrity manager, a manager since yesterday.

In the mean time, the radio studio workers ignored me and gave the go ahead to the two radio hosts to start the interview.

"And we're back, live, with actor and pop sensation Higurashi Miroku," the chipper, female host began.

I calmly held up a hand to my mouth and coughed, discreetly covering up my snort at the phrase "pop sensation." I had always found the phrase silly, and even more so when applied to Miroku as it described him in the way "big" described the planet.

"Nice to finally have you on the show," the male host said cheerfully.

"Thanks for having me here," Miroku responded politely.

And with that, I instantly knew that this interview was not going to be any different from any other interview I had accompanied Miroku with, which meant that I was going to be bored for next hour. The realization startled me, and the fact that I should have anticipated the boredom rather than be startled by it surprised me even more. This was not the first interview of its kind that I had witnessed, but this was certainly the first time I found myself wholly uninterested in an interview.

I sighed and stretched out my arms, narrowly missing a passing worker's nose. Opting to keep the headphones on, just in case the radio hosts happened to say or ask anything inappropriate, I settled in for the next hour and took the time to relax for the first time that morning, since I might as well be comfortable if I was going to be bored.

My instincts were correct for the majority of the interview, for the hosts asked mostly standard questions, like why he liked singing, why he liked acting, why he preferred Hong Kong to Tokyo, what he liked best about Hong Kong, going on and for a good forty-five minutes. But it was in those last fifteen minutes that my instincts crashed and my mood took a downturn.

"So, apparently, you used to be quite the partier in your early days," Female Host commented, suggestively wagging an eyebrow.

"Oh _yeah_," agreed Male Host. "There was a time when pictures of you and some girl at a club were all over the place. And it was a different girl every time!"

This was definitely forbidden territory. Didn't they know this sort of thing _shouldn't_ be discussed live?

Shaken out of my stupor, I glared warningly through the glass wall at the hosts and then glanced at Miroku, silently asking if he wanted any intervention from me. To my surprise, he only turned his head slightly in my direction and gave me a subtle quirk at the corner of his lip.

"Well, yes, I was more social when I was younger," Miroku replied, smirking. "You could say that I was a little more open to fun and excitement at the time, even if it involved dancing and…female companions."

…He was actually answering them!

"Oh, you weren't _that_ much younger. It was only a few years ago," Female Host quipped, giggling.

If there hadn't been other people around, I would have sobbed into my hands. What was he thinking? You weren't supposed to talk about your personal life over the air! The hosts were excusable since they were just doing their job, but Miroku should _know _better.

I could smell the future bad publicity coming to our doorstep already.

"So what's happened now?" Female Host wondered. "Where have you been? Why have you disappeared from the party scene?"

Miroku only chuckled. "I suppose you won't believe me if I said that I'd outgrown partying?"

As both hosts burst out laughing, I gave up, mentally kicking myself for my ineptitude and inexperience and praying that Miroku was experienced enough to keep the conversation from straying too far.

"I didn't think so," he remarked.

"You know what I've noticed? We started seeing less of you ever since your little sister started living with you. Perhaps your sister has had a restrictive impact on you?" Male Host speculated.

The relaxed, lively expression on Miroku's face darkened ever so slightly, a small lowering of the eyelids, a droop at one corner of the lips, a tilt of the head, but only his brief silence made it known to the radio and its listeners. He propped an elbow on the table and rested his chin on a hand, smiling vaguely.

"Perhaps…" Miroku answered. "Maybe having my sister Kagome move in with me had some effect on my… socializing habits. But then you _do _realize that at the time, it had been a little more than half a year since my parents and little brother had died. I don't know about other partiers out there, but death puts a huge damper on your spirit. But you see, however effected _I _was by my family's death, my sister was more so. It's one of the reasons she left Japan to live me you know."

"What reasons were these again?" Male Host asked suddenly.

Miroku gave him a wan smile. "That's a whole other story, and I'm sure my time here is limited."

They both started and looked around frantically at the producer, who looked at the clock and gestured back.

"Well, it seems we only have five minutes left as it is," Female Host said quickly. "So, one more question." She leaned forward with an eager expression. "I hear," she began, "that not only your sister lives with you, but _another girl_ as well. A girl the age as you are." She wagged an eyebrow up and down at him.

"And where did you hear that?" Miroku wondered, face beginning to lose the darkness and returning to its usual cheerfulness.

"Is it true?"

"Oh, yes."

I carefully kept my fisted hands in my lap and kept my face neutral. And then I turned slightly to see if anyone was staring at me as the good old sympathetic nervous system kicked in, complete with sweaty palms and a heart beat so fast that it couldn't be healthy.

…No, stop worrying, just _stop_, Sango. Turn your face back; if they see you looking around they'll know that other girl is you. Stay in control! Maybe they don't even know it's you, but if you react they'll probably guess. _Stop worrying_. Why do you care if they know anyway? What would be so embarrassing about it? What do you have to hide from? But I wonder if my cheeks look completely red, they certainly feel like it. No. Do not think about the death threats you received the first year you started living with the Higurashi's. Do not think about attention you got from the tabloids. And definitely do not think about the rumors. _Don't_. Just think about what you're going to do to Miroku if he says anything. Yes…

"And do you both get along…?" Male Host asked. "… Please answer the question out loud, Miroku. Our listeners won't be able to see your grin."

As I held my breath, Miroku laughed merrily, rather suspiciously keeping his face carefully turned away from me.

"Right, sorry. Yes, we get along," Miroku replied, struggling to hold in his chuckles.

I exhaled in relief.

"…And?" Female Host said when Miroku didn't elaborate.

"And what?" Miroku asked.

"Is there anything else you can say?"

"Like what? You have to be specific, you know."

Both hosts shook their heads and laughed and I sank into a puddle of nervous relief. It seemed that Miroku had decided to spare me some stress and remain ambiguous about me to the public. Considering past times when he'd been less generous to me, this definitely made me feel better.

"Let's get right to the point, then, shall we?" Female Host quipped. "As many of your fans noticed, you were spotted less and less the last few years, and your female fans, myself, included, wonder if this girl had anything to do with it."

"Oh?" Miroku raised an eyebrow.

"Well, this fact that she _lives_ with you is pretty suspicious. To put it bluntly, is there any sort of romantic relationship between yourself and this mystery girl?"

Miroku lowered his eyebrow and for a moment, he looked blank, dangerously blank, as if he was considering an answer.

I fisted my hands in my lap, back straight and stiff, holding my breath, afraid to look at him but too nerve-wrecked not to.

_Do not look at me_. Mentally, I shouted to him, don't you _dare_ look over at me. If you give me any funny looks, the radio hosts will notice and then the crew will notice. The listeners won't notice, but the radio hosts will gossip about it and then they'll know. I don't care if you think teasing me is funny, but don't you dare do it here.

But of course, Miroku had a gift of making life difficult. My life, that is.

Slowly, as though we were in a horror movie, Miroku notched his head to the side and swiveled his eyes around at me, blinking and quirking up a corner of his mouth, mockingly questioning and mischievous. As his glance caught mine, the quirk became a grin, silently asking, well, I don't know the answer, what do _you_ think, hm?

I thought about how nice it would be to evaporate out of the station.

"Uh, Miroku?" Male Host asked, twisting around to see where he was looking.

"You _will _answer the question, won't you? We don't have much air time left," Female Host pressed.

I watched fretfully, but none of the radio crew or hosts seemed give me any more attention than before after Miroku's look.

"We have one minute remaining, so quickly now, are there any romantic feelings between this girl and you?" Male Host said again, somewhat sharply.

Still looking at me, Miroku's quirk became a full-fledged grin.

It wouldn't be below Miroku to tease me on air, but even he knew better than to talk outright about romantic relationships in public. That didn't mean he wouldn't give hints every now and then. His publicist told me once that Miroku was infamous for dropping tidbits about his love life, tidbits fishy enough to spark interest, but vague enough to not actually reveal anything.

Pondering this, I waited curiously and in trepidation for Miroku's answer. It caused a ruckus in the media, but it was still strangely amusing to see how people received Miroku's tidbits. And it's most certainly _not_ because I _wanted_ to hear him say that he and I were actually in a relationship.

No, ha, ha. No. Imagine, me and him, in a romantic relationship, with me still working as his personal manager. Oh yeah, that's romantic. It's not as if I would ever harbor such feelings, nor him.

And then Miroku took a breath.

"The relationship between my little sister's former tutor and me is one common between room mates," Miroku said, carefully making sure to pronounce each and every word. "She is a good person and a delight to share a penthouse with."

The double entendres were unmistakable.

I sunk into the chair, hand covering my face hand despairingly.

"_Former _tutor!" Female Host questioned suspiciously.

"Yes," Miroku answered.

And then time ran out and Miroku was shaking hands and being clapped on the back and shoulders as we were led out of the studio and out of the building.

"That was quite underhand, you know," I informed him as his car drove us away from the waving radio crew. "And you didn't have to torture the poor girl so, keeping her waiting and everything. You stalled on purpose, I could tell."

Miroku only cackled back at me. "You should have seen the look on your face," he laughed.

I shook my head disapprovingly.

"Well, where to next, Little Sister's Former Tutor?" Miroku asked.

"We're having lunch with Naraku," I said. "Please reframe from talking about our relationship with them. I don't need the Triads spreading rumors about us too."

"As you wish, my dear."

o

o

_Kagome_

o

"Time's up. Put your pen down, Kagome-san. We still have an hour left, so we have time go over your math homework," Houjou announced cheerfully.

Wearily, I ended my essay and capped my pen. "Can I take a break before math, Houjou-sensei? My hand hurts: my essay's really long."

Houjou considered. "I suppose," he said, eventually.

I glanced at the clock, shaking out my wrist, and wondered how time had passed so quickly. It was already mid-afternoon.

"I think that was enough of a break," Houjou remarked. "Now let's look at—"

The door opened and I turned around eagerly to smile as Miroku and Sango entered the flat.

"How was the interview, Nii-chan?" I called.

"It was fun!" Miroku responded, walking into the living room. Plopping down on a couch, he turned to my tutor. "Houjou-san, I don't think Kagome will be able concentrate very much with me hanging around, so why don't you go home early today?" he suggested.

"I'm not sure," Houjou said, frowning. "Kagome really needs the extra math instruction…"

"And I promise not to dock your pay," Miroku added.

"Oh. All right then," Houjou agreed.

Once Houjou was safely shown to the door and out of the flat, I hugged Miroku gratefully.

"You have no idea how thankful I am for you being here," I told him.

"Probably not," Miroku agreed. "Oh, by the way…"

He was using that voice, the one used for requesting things that I would most likely refuse. I moved back and glared suspiciously at him. "You don't want me to go with you to work tonight, do you?"

He grinned. "I only want you to accompany me to a photo shoot tomorrow morning. We'll have to go in early, but I know you can handle it."

"What about Houjou-sensei?"

"Tomorrow's Saturday."

"If that's all there is, why did you send Houjou-sensei home early?" I demanded.

His grin was sheepish this time. "The shoot is for publicity with Gao Inuyasha. He'll be there too."

"…Oh. Inuyasha, again. Great."

"Naraku Onigumo will be present as well. We spoke with him today, and he was very interested in us. He even wanted to see you and requested your presence at the shoot."

…What?

Vaguely, I felt my eyes widen and my breath catch in my throat. Naraku, big shot of the Triads, wanted to see me? Why? What's so interesting about me? I've never even seen him before, I don't even know what he looks like.

I thought about the rumors and controversy surrounding him and remembered the movies and my hands began to shake. "Why does he want to see… _me_?" I asked.

Miroku shrugged. "Polite interest?" he suggested.

I scrutinized my brother, wondering at his nonchalance. He had told me this morning that he had everything under control, but I doubted his credibility. "But why would he _care _about me? I'm just your sister."

And I don't want to see him. I don't want anything to do with him. I don't want Miroku to get involved with him. I don't want to see anyone close to him, and especially not Gao Inuyasha. Miroku should know this, but why did it seem like he was disregarding my feelings?

"Remember our conversation this morning?" Miroku asked, taking my hand. "Please, don't worry. You have nothing to be afraid of, I'll make sure of it." He grinned suddenly. "And besides, Kouga was hired as the photographer. He hasn't photographed you for months and I'm sure he misses you."

"Kouga?" Against my better judgement, I felt myself perking up at the mention of the photographer. "Kouga's leading the shoot?"

"That's what I just said, Kagome-chan."

"Oh!"

And with that, my brother once again hooked me into another part of his business. I could only hope that I wouldn't get sucked in too deeply.


End file.
